I spent some time in Old Fort as a child. We lived in Asheville and my mother would take us kids with her to visit a friend. A couple of times we even hopped a train and jumped off when we reached Old Fort. (It was a very, very slow-moving train, of course:-)) Today the population there is around 900, so it's still a very small town.
I have always been a fan of the Christy series. Never read the books, but I loved the television show. (I was actually pretty bummed to find out she really married the preacher and not the doctor.) "Cutter Gap" in the book was actually Townsend, Tennessee. The history of the area is pretty fascinating.
I thought it would be interesting to write a story set in these two places, and it was. I hope readers will enjoy it.
About the Book
Sonora Kingston is a loner. She also carries a secret. After losing her mother, her younger sister takes off. When Sonora is kicked out of her home by her older sister, she starts a new life, determined to make it on her own. She has never known the love of a man and has no interest allowing one to get that close.
But that was before Kellen Youngblood.
New secrets soon surface that connect Sonora and Kellen in ways they never imagined.
Right now, you can get a free copy of Clutching a Beating Heart with the purchase of any ebook from my website! http://www.JewelAdams.com
I've heard it said that the Carolina Mountains date back to the time of Christ–that they were His mountains. I've often wondered if The Master ever comes back to His mountains, and if He does, what He must think of the things going on within the green, majestic rolling peaks. I'm guessing He's probably visited a time or two and is likely saddened by the deeds the mountains have witnessed. The whispers of what they know echo all around us. Does anyone ever listen? Or even care? We should, for the Smokey hills see clearly what others assume is hidden.
And the mountains never lie.
It's a Long, Long Road
As the sun beats down on the dry grass, a sparse amount of clothing lay littering the front lawn. An old tote bag is tossed from behind the screen door.
“Get your slutty behind off my property, and don't ever come back!”
“But Dina, I didn't do nothin'. It ain't my fault.”
“The hell if you didn't. I know what happened, so don't try to lie to me. I ain't dumb, I got eyes!”
“Please, Dina. I ain't got nowhere to go.”
“That ain't my problem. You shoulda thought of that before, you skank!”
“But Dina, please listen– ”
“I ain't interested in anything else you got to say. Now get off my property, Sonora!”
“But it's my house, too.”
“But Dina, you don't know–”
“I said I don't wanna hear it! Go on, get off!”
“I ain't goin'. It's my house, too.”
“Girl, if you step back up in here, you got a world of hurtin' coming. You don't believe me, you just try it. Now get your slutbag behind on outta here!”
The slamming door echoes off houses as more neighbors perch on porches, taking everything in. Nothing that happens in the small southern town is ever private. Several pairs of eyes watch the lone figure tearfully gather her few belongings before slowly making her way down the road leading from town. Some shake their heads in pity, while others congregate and murmur, “She had it coming.”
But one old soul stands in her doorway with tears streaming down her cheeks as she watches the young woman reach the street corner, and then turn, disappearing from sight. Glancing over at her husband where he stands by the window gazing down the road, she watches his jaw clench and prays for him, as well as the girl. It is all she can do.