Teresa Keefer - Author
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Reflections........

12/17/2017

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As this year draws to a close and Christmas is just a little over a week away, I am reflecting back on the past year and all the exciting things I’ve done. Things that wouldn’t have been possible if I hadn’t been encouraged to sit down and write a book by one of the best friends a woman could ever ask for. But he’s an entirely different story altogether. Maybe another time.

Today, I looked back at all the photos from the trips I’ve been so fortunate to take. I spent a birthday on Bourbon Street with the best group of friends and romance authors. Attended a formal ball and got to wear a beautiful gown in my favorite color. Rode the streetcar to the Garden District. Sipped mimosas and sat at Café Dumonde and devoured the most delectable of beignets.

I flew to Denver and rented a car. Got to visit my nephew and his little family. Saw the Rocky Mountains and antelope as I wove my way through Wyoming to have lunch at The Virginian. Backtracked through the nature preserve and used the men’s restroom at a truck stop because I learned the hard way that a Wyoming mile is more like ten miles long and there are no stops along the way. Saw the Black Hills after a rainstorm with its green beauty. Stayed in a turn of the century hotel and casino and had lunch at the #10 Saloon where Wild Bill Hickock was shot in the back of the head. Met some more wonderful authors and got to see an exciting ten second ride at the PBR rodeo. Took a train ride through the Black Hills and visited some lovely wineries.

I got to go to California. Took a flight to Las Vegas and drove on the Las Vegas strip on a Friday night. Took a side road while driving through the Mojave Desert and found a busy little oasis that I am sure will be the site of a romance novel in the upcoming months. Spent some quality time with my youngest daughter eating a seafood lunch right on the Pacific Ocean. Saw the Top Gun house in Oceanside. Watched the moon set on the Pacific and felt the damp chill of the surf as it came over the rocks of the patio of the beach cottage where we stayed. Walked the street of Old Town San Diego.

I’ve lived. I’ve done things that I never thought I would do on my own. And I have memories that will be forever etched in my heart. And none of it would have been possible if it weren’t for the encouragement of those who are near and dear to me. God is good. I’m blessed. And this Christmas season, I wish all of you a wonderful time with family and friends. Cherish those moments and hold them close to you.

And for you, here is the next scene from Faith’s Hope…

*****
​

Faith tentatively approached the magnificent Greek Revival home sitting back from the sidewalk that ran along Chestnut Street in the Garden District.  Her curiosity had gotten the best of her since the stormy night she found the ghostly young woman crying in the attic. So curious that she spent her day off at the library doing research until she found the exact address of Magnolia House.  
Unlike the unkempt neighborhood where her own apartment was, the homes here were immaculately tended with beautifully landscaped lawns and gardens.  Four columns supported the double gallery of the mansion, and steps spanned the better portion of the lower gallery.  Magnolia trees in full bloom flanked the sidewalk that led from the wrought iron gate.  Massive ferns hung from both levels of the gallery between each of the columns, and she was intrigued by how in the world they may have gotten there, let alone how they were attended to.  
When she’d set off this morning and hopped on the streetcar, it was to take a walk around the Garden District and casually stroll by the house.  Faith had searched the chest for any other letters from the southern gentleman to his lady but had found none.  Only delicately embroidered linens yellowed with age and crocheted doilies and tablecloths filled the chest.  Those were carefully removed and soaked in mild detergent in her bathtub then dried in the sun on the patio out back.  The round table cloths looked very nice on the accent tables in her living room and her thrift store dresser and nightstands held the matching set of doilies.
She tried to imagine the two young lovers standing on the steps of this beautiful home with the moon and stars twinkling in the night sky above them and the fragrance of magnolia blooms filling the air.  Hope and Geoffrey.  She couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to the two of them after the war was over.  Had he returned to her or had he perished in the war?  Why was it she cried so heartbreakingly in the afterlife?  
“Good afternoon.  Beautiful house isn’t it?”  
Faith jumped at the sound of the deep voice with a very pronounced accent that she had become to recognize as being prevalent in New Orleans.  As she did, her feet tangled up and she found herself starting to fall.  However, she was rescued by a pair of strong hands gripping her upper arms to right her.  When she looked up, it was to stare into a familiar pair of dark eyes.  Her mind told her there was no way it was him, but there was no mistaking the timeless face that looked back at her.  The black hair much shorter than that in the photograph, but overall this man had to be Geoffrey Maillieux.  Or a direct descendant.
“I’m sorry miss.  I didn’t mean to startle you.”  
He held onto her arms for a moment longer, and the heat of his touch burned through the thin sleeves of the flowing summery blouse.  A heat that was very disconcerting to her, especially after the traumatic events before she came to New Orleans.  She tugged herself loose from his grip and looked down at the sidewalk where their feet were a mere few inches apart.  
“It’s fine.”  Faith managed to mumble before she started to walk away.  And only because it would be too obvious for her to run.

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​Winter Has Arrived…

12/11/2017

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It’s a snowy evening here tonight but I’ve got a fire going and it’s nice and cozy in my living room. I don’t mind winter days because it gives me a reason to stay inside and write. Progress was made on Namaste and I hope to have it ready to release by Christmas. Namaste is the conclusion to the Summers Sisters series as they continue to search for the way to defeat the entity that has been playing havoc on the small community of Lakeview.
We had a nice dinner of meatloaf, potatoes, macaroni and cheese and dessert was apple crisp with ice cream and caramel sauce. I’m ready to wind my evening down with a glass of wine and a Christmas movie, but wanted to take the time to give you the next scene of Faith’s Hope.
So, snuggle up with your favorite winter drink and a snack and enjoy…
*****

The storm turned out to be a slow moving one so by the time it reached the city and unleashed its fury, Faith had finished dinner and bathed and sat curled up among the cushions, reading a book in her pajamas.  The wind howled and whistled through the streets as it preceded the rain and hail that soon joined it.  Then it died down, and all she could hear was the sound of rain and the crashing of thunder while lightning flashed through the windows, causing dancing patterns of leaves to play against the wall opposite the windows. 
A chill passed over her, causing the hair on the back of her neck to stand up at attention.  She stopped reading for a moment, and then continued as she realized the chill had probably come from a blast of the air conditioning.  The television flickered a bit before the signal went dead and a loss of reception message came across the screen. She reached for the package of matches and lit the three candles on the side table, and she enjoyed the scent of the magnolia fragrance that filled the air as the candle burned.
The wind picked up again, and the loose shutter on the window banged against the side of the house in a lonely beat.  With the next clap of thunder and flash of lightning, the power went out and the house was suddenly quiet inside while the tempest continued outside.  Faith was tired from her day at work so she sat for a little bit with her head resting against the back of the sofa before finally giving up on her reading for the night.
She picked up the candle and carried it with her to the bedroom.  The light flickered against the ornate molding along the top of the wall as she set the candle down on the nightstand beside the brass bed.  Turning back the quilt that Frankie had given her out of her own collection of bedding, she slid underneath the top sheet onto the coolness of the freshly laundered linens.  Plumping the pillows first, she settled comfortably against the softness and lay looking up at the dancing light on the ceiling.  Outside the rain splattered against the window next to her bed, and the lilac bush swiped against the house like slender fingers brushing against the wood.  The sound was actually soothing, and she drifted off to sleep.
Someone was crying.  A woman.  Heart wrenching sobs.  Was she crying in her sleep or was she dreaming of someone crying?  Faith’s eyes fluttered open and took a moment to focus.  The candlelight flickered and created shadow on the walls.  The sobs were real and not her imagination or a dream.  The voice was too soft to be Frankie and it sounded like it was coming from above her.  She sat up in the bed and looked around the room. Despite the air-conditioning remaining silent with the power outage, the room was strangely cool.  Cold in fact.  Chill bumps formed on her arms, and she drew the quilt around her for comfort.
Her imagination must be playing tricks on her.  There was nothing above her but the attic and even though she’d never been up there, she knew there was access inside the closet across from her bed.  Frankie told her that she could help herself to anything she might find up there that could be useful, but Faith had never taken advantage of the offer.  A person crying?  Maybe it wasn’t a person.  Perhaps a stray cat had found refuge from the storm by slipping through the vent.  It couldn’t be a person. 
The sobs were suddenly accompanied by a haunting melody that echoed throughout the room.  A tune that scratched and hissed like an old record.  She threw the quilt aside and swung her feet over the edge of the bed.  As the music continued the crying lessened.  Something caused the music to jump and repeat.  Like an old record that had been played so much that it was worn to the point it missed a bit of the tune here and there.  She pulled open the drawer of her nightstand and took out the little penlight she kept there.  A lot of good it was going to do in a darkened attic.  But Faith had always been curious and tonight that curiosity was getting the better of her.
She crossed the wood floor, which was cool and smooth beneath her bare feet and slid open one of the closet doors.  Obviously an addition many years after the house was built, it spanned the entire wall that made the bedroom private from the rest of the house. She didn’t have a lot of clothes so it didn’t take much effort to slide them aside and point the flashlight toward the ceiling of the closet.   A worn piece of rope hung from the trap door in the ceiling of the closet and when she pulled on it, she could see the ladder above her head.  She reached with her free hand and gave the bottom rung a tug allowing the ladder to fall free directly in front of her.
Taking a deep breath and holding it, she listened.  The crying had quieted and the needle of the old turntable in the middle of the room bumped and scratched putting an end to the melody.  Frankie’s parting words echoed through her mind.  Only the living can hurt someone.  With that memory, a sweet scent filled the dark attic.  Lilies.  She would know that fragrance anywhere because at her childhood home, there was a whole bed of lily of the valley beneath her bedroom window, and she remembered the sweet fragrance wafting in through the screened windows in the springtime.
Using the flashlight, she scanned the room and didn’t immediately see anything.  Then she caught a glimpse of some movement and focused the light on an area in the farthest portion of the attic.  Faith gasped in disbelief as she saw the ghostly figure of a woman sprawled across a wooden chest that sat next to an old Victrola that continued to spin.  The ghostly woman looked up, and Faith saw the innocent face of a young woman.  Very young.  Perhaps even a teenager.  Dressed in clothing that was reminiscent of Civil War times with her hair falling freely across her shoulders.  Blinded by a flash of light as the power came back on, Faith stumbled forward and pain exploded as her head hit a low beam. 
Faith sat on the floor and put her head between her knees fighting off the dizziness from the blow to her head.  Her stomach churned for a moment but she managed to calm it with a few deep breaths.  When she felt she’d recovered enough, she stood up and looked around the cluttered attic.
The turntable had stopped and she knelt down to look at the record.  It appeared to have been played so much that there was not much left in the way of grooves in the aging material of the disc.  She ran her finger over the top of the Victrola and it came away smeared with dust.  She looked over at the trunk that the ghostly figure had been weeping against.  It was a beautifully crafted chest with a pair of lovebirds holding a heart carved in the center of the lid.  She brushed dust away and found one word inside the heart.  Or was it a name?  HOPE.  Hope’s chest?  Or a hope chest.  She gently lifted the lid and peered inside.  Atop a stack of hand-embroidered linens was a tintype photo of a young man.  He was dressed in a Confederate soldier uniform, his face solemn yet handsome.  Not much older than the ghost of the girl Faith found crying just mere moments before the lights came back on.. 
Beneath the picture was a yellowed envelope addressed to Hope Avery with a return address for a Magnolia House in New Orleans.  She turned the envelope over in her hand and found a red seal stamped with an ornate M.  Faith lifted the flap and found a letter inside.  Actually, just a brief note telling Hope that he would be leaving soon to fight for the Confederacy, but would return to her as soon as the South was successful.  It was signed by Geoffrey Maillieux and dated 15 August 1861.  The young man had enlisted at the very beginning of the Civil War.


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Another Glimpse.......

12/3/2017

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It’s been a busy week at the day job. And it’s a full moon. Did anyone see how bright the moon was last night? Almost like daylight in the middle of the night. Lots of deer out running around, there were three does in my yard before dawn today and they looked so regal standing in the moonlight with their shadows casting across the frosty ground. There are so many things I like about autumn!
I’ve been busy working on my historical romance for Wild Deadwood Reads anthology. It’s a historical romance which takes place in wild Deadwood and I’m pretty excited to be able to share it next year. I think you historical romance lovers will like the storyline. And the best thing, it’s done!
So, next on the agenda is the final book of the Summers Sisters series. This book is all about the fun loving Riana. I am several chapters in right now and the story is coming along nicely. But, I’m really looking forward to writing Rowena’s Song, which is their mother’s story. I also have started a rough draft of my very first political thriller which does not yet have a title.
Sigh. I have so many ideas that will be forthcoming and I have the goal of releasing at least 5 books next year and possibly just as many novellas. Is anyone else looking forward to 2018?
As promised, I am going to share the next scene from Faith’s Hope. If you can’t wait to read the whole thing, watch for the full-length novella to be released in the upcoming weeks. If you can wait…here is the next scene…

The apartment was shaping up nicely as far as Faith was concerned.  The heavy drapes in the living room had been replaced with lacy white sheers pulled back with ribbon. They would let in the sun except for today when the clouds had piled up to the west long before Faith got off work.  Shades of grey, occasionally lit up from behind, flashed with lightning. The talk in the coffee shop suggested the storm was building steam as it crossed over Texas and headed their way.  Even though the apartment was air-conditioned, her walk home had been a stifling and steamy six blocks so she reached for the switch that sent the ceiling fan whirring air throughout the living room.
The pretty floral sofa invited her to relax with the heaps of throw pillows she found at the neighborhood thrift store for barely nothing, and she thought about laying down for a few minutes.  A convention in town had kept her busy, and her feet ached almost as bad as they had the first week at the coffee shop, but pushed herself to take a quick walk through the market and picked up fresh fruit and vegetables. Then she stopped at a yard sale to purchase a bag of paperback books which all needed to be put away.  Little by little her tips had purchased little items to add her own personal touches to the apartment.
She walked through the bedroom into the small kitchen at the back and started stowing the produce in the noisy old refrigerator.  Her appetite had gradually begun to return to normal, and she heard it rumble a bit as she thought about the chicken breast that was marinating in a bowl on the top shelf of the refrigerator.  She glanced at the calendar on the wall by the back door.  It was hard to believe that she had already been here for almost a month.  The open shelf above the stove held a variety of spices and a ceramic pot where she kept the new set of cooking utensils purchased from the local dollar store.  A pair of plain iron sconces had already been hanging on the wall above the small bistro table and chairs, but the hurricane globes and candles were her own addition.  A bouquet of fresh cut flowers nestled in a terra cotta bowl in the center of the table. The hooked seat pads on the chairs matched the hooked rug in front of the sink.  The single window in the room was bare except for a macramé hanger, which held a potted vine rescued from a discard pile behind a floral shop that shared the same alley as the coffee shop.  A little bit of plant food and water and it was already boasting a brand new growth of leaves.
Her bathroom was hidden behind a narrow door next to the sink, and she stepped inside to put the shampoo and body wash on the little stand next to the antique claw foot tub.  From above the stand, a collection of Mardi Gras masks grinned down at her.  All of them pieces she  discovered at the thrift store along with the secondhand bath set she’d dyed in a bright fuchsia color that almost matched the cheap set of towels from the big box store by the interstate.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and someone knocked on the back door.  She greeted Frankie as she let herself inside with her key. She looked frazzled with cobwebs in her bright hair and a streak of dirt across her face.  “Lord have mercy that sure is a scary looking storm coming our way.”  Her tiny body was clad in a pair of bright yellow Bermuda shorts and a Hawaiian print shirt, and she had a pair of garden gloves tucked into her waistband.  “I was puttering about in the garage and found that old patio set that I haven’t used in years so I pulled it out and put it by your back steps to go along with that little grill you brought home.”
“Come in and sit down for a minute and have a glass of sweet tea with me.”  Faith pulled the pitcher out of the refrigerator.  She motioned toward the table and chairs.  “Go on, sit down.”  She worried about the older woman puttering about in the garage out back.  Not only did the structure look like it was ready to collapse but it was also stacked full of junk in every space that Frankie’s old Cadillac didn’t occupy.  It was an accident waiting to happen, and Faith had become quite fond of Frankie over the last few weeks.
She put the two glasses on the table and sat down across from Frankie.  “You should have waited for me to get home before you went digging around in the garage and moving lawn furniture.”  Faith smiled as the woman brushed a cobweb out of her hair.  “Seriously, couldn’t it have waited until I got here?”
“Little girl, I’ve been doing things on my own for a great many years before you came along.  Don’t go thinking you can get me to stop now.  I’m too damned stubborn.”  
“I never said you had to stop.”  Faith chuckled softly.  “I just said you could have waited until I got home so that if you fell or something fell on you, there would be someone here to call the rescue squad.”
“Those rescue squad boys are nice specimens of muscled glory.”  Frankie lifted a penciled eyebrow.  “Maybe I should have a little accident so that you could call them over and we could both get our eyes full. What do you say little girl?”
Faith shook her head.  “You’re too eager.”  In an attempt to change the subject, she got up and pulled the bowl of marinated chicken from the refrigerator.  “Do you want to eat dinner with me?  I have enough here for both of us.”
“No thank you.  I have a gentleman friend coming to take me to Arnaud’s for dinner and cocktails.”  She gave an exaggerated wink.  “I’d have to poke him full of Cialis for it to be much more than dinner and drinks.”
Frankie was impossible.  The older woman alternated between acting like a proper southern belle and a dirty old lady.  Faith still hadn’t asked, but she would guess that she had at least seen the end of the Second World War.  She did know that she had come to New Orleans to get away from an overbearing mother and overprotective father, purchasing this little shotgun double with money from her trust fund when she turned old enough to access it.  What Frankie had done in the meantime was a mystery Faith wasn’t sure she wanted to solve.
Frankie drained the glass and stood up, using the edge of the table as leverage and winced a bit.  Faith didn’t comment because she knew that no matter what she said, the older woman wouldn’t slow down or take it easy.  The thunder sounded as if it was getting closer to them, and Faith could have almost sworn that the last clap of thunder shook the whole city.
“Better get your candles and matches out.  Storms like the one coming usually bring power outages, and this creaky old house can be a bit overwhelming if you’re a suspicious person.”  The soles of her sneakers squeaked against the worn black and white checkered linoleum as she sashayed toward the back door.  She glanced back at Faith as she turned the knob to let herself out.  “Don’t fret too much.  Only the living can hurt a person.”  And she slipped quietly out the back door as Faith stared at her retreating back.


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    I love the peace and quiet of living in the country.  It inspires me and refreshes me at the end of a long day.

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