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Here are some of the books I'm currently working on that I hope will be published in the future.
The Carleton Code - A middle grade ghost mystery in which a boy tries to solve puzzle clues leading to a family treasure buried on a Georgia farm during the Civil War. Will he solve the puzzle and find the treasure in time to help his homeless family settle down at last? And will the "treasure" be worth anything today?
This page is under construction. Please check back, as I'll be adding more information about my other books, and more excerpts.
The Carleton Code Present
"No! No! Daddy, Rob, don't go away! Mommy, please! Don't make me stay here! I want to go with you!"Rob jerked in the camper's lumpy bunk at the sound of Ellie's sleep-slurred cries. He heard the rattling sound of the rings across the rod as Mom jerked open the curtain that separated their parents' tiny sleeping quarters from the rest of the camper.
"Hush, now," Mom said softly.
Rob could hear her kneel down beside Ellie, and heard the squeak of the bunk springs that meant she had lifted his little sister and was cradling her.
"We're all here," Mom assured her. "Rob's asleep - didn't you hear him snoring?"
Had he been snoring? Rob felt his face flush. The camper was so small, you could hear practically everything. He was sick of the lack of privacy, sick of the camper, sick of his life. If I were grown up, he told himself in the litany that had grown increasingly familiar over their long months on the road, I wouldn't make my kids live in a camper. I'd find them a house, no matter what it takes.
"And Daddy's here," Mom went on, below.
"It's okay, honey," Dad said, his voice hoarse and strained. "We're all together."
"We're at Fairhaven," Mom said, and the word had its own magic that soothed Rob as much as it calmed Ellie.
Fairhaven. . . Mom's home. He knew the stories Mom had told them about growing up in the family home in Georgia by heart. His favorites had been about the Carleton sampler because, as far back as he could remember, it had fascinated him.
The sampler had been stitched at Fairhaven by one of his mother's ancestors, in the great house that had stood on this property during the Civil War. The sampler was dated 1866 in crooked numerals. It had been stitched by a girl named Anna Louise Carleton, and it was not an ordinary sampler. Mom had explained that most samplers had an alphabet and a floral design and an uplifting saying on them. This one had an alphabet and a bunch of funny-looking flowers, all right, but instead of a saying it had four lines of peculiar symbols. Puzzling over them when he was small, Rob had wondered if he might someday visit Fairhaven. Perhaps Mom's Georgia home that had inspired Anna to stitch the sampler held the key to understanding it. And now they were at Fairhaven at last.
1865 While the water heated, Anna stared through the window. She remembered how she and her brother had slipped out through the kitchen in the middle of the night to hide the silver and stock certificates and war bonds and a few treasured Carleton heirlooms. Everything to Rob had always been a mischievous prank, no matter how important the consequences. Still, as soon as Anna had told him she was afraid that Sherman's Yankees would pass near Fairhaven in the next weeks, Rob had agreed to help. Other families in the County lost everything they had of value, but the bluecoats had taken their anger out on Rob. . . .
Anna blinked hard and stared through the window. Although it was a clear, sunny day, she couldn't quite make out the figure by the magnolia tree. It looked like a boy-but she couldn't bring him into focus. It couldn't be one of the Henry boys; there was far too much work for them at home now for one of them to be wandering off. William Parson was much shorter, and there were no other boys near her age, now that Rob was gone.
She rubbed her eyes and looked harder at the shadowy figure. He seemed quite young to be a soldier and, anyway, he wasn't wearing a uniform, just some peculiar pull-over shirt with short sleeves, like a workman. And he wore strange soft shoes, not proper boots. Could he be a beggar, come looking for food? He should have come to the kitchen door to ask properly.
Then the boy looked around and Anna saw his face for the first time. Suddenly the hazy figure came clear and she recognized the familiar black hair, although it looked far too long, and the high cheekbones.
"Rob!"
The box of tea tumbled to the floor as she cried out and flung her hands to her mouth.
Startled, the boy jerked upright. He looked around wildly for a second, then stared hard at her. Their eyes met, and she saw his widen as hers had. His mouth opened, and she could barely make out words that seemed to come from a great distance.
"Hey. . . you all right?
Then the boy disappeared.
.