When Martha Raker is abducted and her father murdered in a robbery, her uncle, the sheriff of the town, heads out in pursuit. The only man who volunteers to help is a greenhorn— the mild-mannered schoolteacher, Will Burrows. 

As the outlaws flee into Indian Territory with their captive, Sheriff Gillette is doubtful of Will’s suitability to be of any real help—but Will is insistent. Though the young man harbors his own doubts about himself—and his fears of what is sure to befall Martha at the outlaws’ hands—he loves her, and he is determined to save her.

Martha is a strong-willed young woman, and she is confident in the belief she will not be abandoned by the man she loves, or by her uncle. She steadfastly finds ways to outwit the outlaws, but when they are bested by another outlaw gang, she must try to find a way to survive.

The fight for Martha’s safe return eclipses everything else, even Sheriff Gillette’s own sense of bringing justice to the man who has first abducted her. As the lawmen follow the trail of the renegades who now hold Martha, they are joined by some very unlikely help—men they can’t afford to turn away, but can’t afford to trust.

TWELVE DAYS IN THE TERRITORY can be lifetime… 

EXCERPT:

Sunday, September 4, 1887

A gunshot broke the silence of an early Sunday afternoon.

People still on their way home from church stopped, transfixed in their tracks, staring in the direction from which the sound seemed to come. Women already in their kitchens preparing dinner hurried to the nearest window. Other townspeople opened their doors and peered out.

Sheriff Isaac Gillette left the cup of coffee he'd just poured sit on his desk as he stepped out of his office. Striding to the middle of the street, Gillette spied a trio of men who rushed from the general merchandise store owned by his sister's husband. They made for their horses as Martha, the sheriff's niece, struggled with one of them in the middle of the street. Martha screamed for help as the man forced her to mount a waiting horse, then climbed up behind her. His companions sprang onto their saddles and the gang pounded off in the opposite direction, headed out of town.

Shocked by what he witnessed, Gillette drew his pistol and shouted for them to halt. He rushed after them.

They'd left nothing but a cloud of dust behind by the time he reached the hitching post where their horses and a pack mule had been tethered. No longer a young man, Gillette panted, struggling to catch his breath, bent over, hands on his knees. Feet pounded on the ground behind him, accompanied by the shouts and calls of others attracted by the ruckus.

Billy Young boards a train with his brother, Frank, unaware that only one of them will survive the short, hell-bound ride. When a group of brutal outlaws led by a man called Blood begins to methodically shoot the passengers down, Billy finds a way to save himself with the sole purpose of avenging his brother’s death.

But as events unfold, in an unlikely twist, Billy discovers the outlaws are working for someone else—someone with much to gain from the deaths of certain people in the community. Frank’s murder sets Billy on the trail of the three men who changed his world forever—and he won’t stop until he finds every last one of them.

Once he tracks them down, he’ll exact his vengeance—and it will be a pleasure. He’ll follow them to hell and back with one thing on his mind…KILLING BLOOD!

EXCERPT:

“How old are you, boy?” asked the leader. As he came up from his seat, he folded his knife and dropped it into his pocket.

The man who held the gun gave Billy a yellow-toothed grin. His breath reeked of onion, but Billy’s spinning brain only half logged that fact. “What?” Billy asked.

“I said, how old are you?”

The man with the gun touched the muzzle to a spot between Billy’s eyebrows. The rest of the passengers sat silent and watched. At least they all watched except for Frank. Frank was a man who was quick to sleep, and he had already nodded off.

Billy swallowed hard and said, “Nineteen, sir.” He called the man “sir” because he figured being polite in this situation couldn’t hurt. “I was born in seventy-two, and yesterday was my birthday. My brother and I took this train ride down to Cheyenne to celebrate.”

The leader of the group lifted the Colt from the holster on Billy’s hip. “Well, happy birthday, kid. If you want to live to see another one,” he said, tucking Billy’s gun into his belt, “you best do as you’re told.” 

1933. December 24, 7:30 p.m. 

If I wanted Doodles to sleep warm as buttered biscuits, I’d have to do some more quilt tucking.

Doodles was nine years younger than me and mostly my responsibility. Truth is, I was so glad to get another girl in this family, I didn’t mind doing anything for that skinny little baby. I had two older sisters, but they were already married by the time I got any sense.

I’d been stuck with eight brothers and me the only girl for miles around for so long ... shoot, Doodles was like getting a tiny angel to take care of. Ol' heaven sure waited a long time to give her to me, though, cause I’m thirteen and almost growed up now.

I put my ear on top of the wood floor and tried like crazy to overhear the soft talking going on in the room down below me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make out the words. Something was scooted here and yonder. Something big.

Yep. That’s the right sounds for shore. Same as every year. It meant Mama and Dad were getting things ready for us kids to have Christmas in the morning. My old raccoon grin broke out so big on my face, you couldn’t erase it with a mop!

I yelled straight into my squashy pillow until my eyes watered. I did that sometimes when I was excited and didn’t know what else to do. I got that over with and flipped on my back. I cracked every one of my fingers one at time. I learned how to do that from Calvin—one of my brothers. Most of them boys were good for nothing at all, except learning me how to do things like fistfight and get in trouble. Only thing I was glad about was how Sam taught me how to spit across the room and make it land in a can. Now, that was useful.

Shush now, I told myself. None of that mattered tonight. Not with the magic dust swirling all around me so hard my stomach felt like a Mason jar full of cow cream right before it turns into curdled butter.

Nothing no how could ever be as fun as Christmas at the Woodson house, even if it wasn’t much of any kind of fancy. It had us—this family—in it, didn’t it? That was enough, even if we were as poor as dirt and too dumb to stop laughing about it.

Us kids had to go to bed extra early on the night before Christmas so special things could happen. I didn’t know how Mama and Dad did anything special for us with us having just about no money in the world. I sure loved it when they did, though. Loved it more than running home barefooted the last day of school.

I stared into the dark with my hands folded over each other and whistled for a little while until those sweet banana pies Mom was making after breakfast tomorrow just rassled my mind down to the ground. She never made such a thing as that except on Christmas day. Those pies tasted so dang good, you felt rich as Solomon when you ate them. She made enough for us kids to have two whole slices if we cut them kind of skinny.

After the pies, Mama would stir something else together in her big crockery bowl. Pretty near the best thing anyone ever made—her Christmas Candy Cake! She’d take that pretty thing out of the stove with the marain icing sitting up on it like stiff snow. Shiny patches of melted red, green, and white candies sparkled on the top. Whooee, us kids about lost our eyeballs right out of their sockets just looking at it. Wouldn’t have been surprising at all to see our eyes rolling across that wood floor after Mom whisked her cake over to the griddle to cool down.

Thinking about it now bout made me throw up since I wanted a piece of it so bad. How could I ever fall asleep? Dang near stupid to try. Next thing I knowed about is when one of those no-good brothers threw a pair of overalls on my head. I flung it off madder than a bee with three stingers and couldn’t believe it was light outside. 

Morning? 

I leaped off of that mattress and grabbed Doodles up tight and barreled down those creaky steps two at a time. I ran quick through the kitchen and into the front room and into Mama and Dad's tiny bedroom. Had it happened? The magic?

The glow in my mama’s eyes was as loud as any shouted-out bunch of words. I couldn’t hardly take my eyes off of hers, they were so bright. I put Doodles down and shook my hands in the air just to get my nerves settled down.

Can we? Can we look now? Huh?

Mama counted our heads to see if we were all there. After the last head, her usual serious face broke out in a smile bigger than the whole of Oklahoma. She stepped away from the iron-post bed where her and Dad, and sometimes a few young’uns, slept. I tell you, us kids scampered under that bed like rabbits out running a pack of slobbery hound dogs. When we came back out, we were holding on to one of Dad’s long gray and white winter socks. Those socks looked like they had the mumps, they were so full. 

Doodles laughed right out loud at us holding our fat socks with both hands like someone was gonna steal them away from us. We clawed them open and dumped everything out in our own special spots. Hazelnuts, walnuts, Brazil nuts, and pecans poured out first. Then came an apple and an orange. My mouth went dry to bite into that shiny red apple, so I did and ate it all up. That was all the winter fruit we’d ever get, so us kids always gobbled it up quicker than you could say shut up.

The bottom of our socks sagged with ever kind of hard candy. Oh, the colors and

shapes just made us crazy happy. Some of the candies were square with dimples all in them. Other kinds were round with flat ends and little drawings like Christmas trees and holly painted on them. How someone painted so tiny on so many pieces, I’ll never know. Best of all were the big hunks of folded over ribbon candy. That was our mama’s favorite, too.

I finished eating my orange and was looking for a dishrag to wipe my hands on when my brother Snipe threw an orange peeling at the side of my face. My hands turned into fists, but then something kind of strange took me over and dusted the mad feeling right off me. I just felt like smiling at him instead. I tossed him a piece of my own candy. He shore did look surprised.

After a breakfast of mama’s special red-hot pork sausage, eggs, biscuits, milk gravy, and sorghum, we started in eating our candy. Only time all year we’d get any.

Two of those no-account boys had to help me with all the stacks of breakfast dishes, and that, all by itself, was a Christmas miracle. I almost never got any help with those dadgummed dishes. This morning while we worked, we had a contest to see who could put the most ribbon candy in their mouths.

I don’t know who won cause we sucked and slurped on it with our mouths gaped open and our eyes bugging out just like a dog when you pulled his ears way back. After a while, we busted out laughing and near choked to death on candy juice.

Dad said, “Hey,” at us in a low, gruff voice from the other room. We knew that meant stop right now or get your rear ends whooped, so we hid and did it one more time.

After making her banana pies, Mama got Dad's hammer and put a big peppermint stick and a handful of those ribbon candies inside a flour-sack dishtowel. All us kids gathered around to watch. We made Big Eyes at each other every time she swung that hammer in the air and brought it down to crush the candy for the top of the Christmas Candy Cake.

You know, I can't swear, well, you ain't even supposed to swear, but anyways ... I can't promise if it's true or not, but I got my feelings about it that God Hisself must have gave that Christmas Candy Cake recipe to our Mama.

I mean, why not?

Don't it stand to reason the Almighty would want a special cake like that for His son's birthday? 

– Biddy Woodson, Nowata County, Oklahoma, 1933

~~~~~~

For a complete adventure mystery featuring Biddy, read Blackberry Road published by Sundown Press and Available on Amazon in Audible, Print, and eBook.

Click HERE for Mama's Christmas Cake Recipe, both the Old-fashioned version & the New-fashioned version.

What holiday stories and recipes have been passed down in your family?

I love to hear from you!

Merry Christmas!

BlackberryRoad is published by Sundown Press and is available on Amazon in Audible, Print, and eBook.

“Trouble sneaks in one hot Oklahoma afternoon in 1934 like an oily twister. A beloved neighbor is murdered, and a single piece of evidence sends the sheriff to arrest a Black man that a sharecropper’s daughter, Biddy, knows is innocent. Hauntingly terrifying sounds seeping from the woods lead Biddy into even deeper mysteries and despair, and finally into the shocking truths of that fateful summer.”

 The Accidental Road, Fire Star Press.

"A teen and her mom escaping an abusive husband tumble into the epicenter of crime peddlers invading Arizona and Nevada in the 1950s. Stranded hundreds of miles from their planned destination of Las Vegas, they land in a dusty town full of ghosts and tales, treachery and corruption. Avoiding disaster is tricky, especially as it leads Kat into a fevered quest for things as simple as home and trust. Danger lurks everywhere, leading her to wonder if she and her mother really did take The Accidental Road of life, or if it’s the exact right road to all they ever hoped for."

Jodi Lea Stewart is the author of a contemporary trilogy set in the Navajo Nation featuring a Navajo protagonist, as well as two historical novels, Blackberry Road and The Accidental Road. She is hard at work on her sixth novel set in old New Orleans and St. Louis. She currently resides in Arizona with her husband, her delightful 90+-year-old mother, a crazy Standard poodle named Jazz, two rescue cats, and numerous gigantic, bossy houseplants.

It’s like this – the gander that was flapping my face, back and legs . . .

Jodi Lea Stewart is the author of a contemporary trilogy set in the Navajo Nation and featuring a Navajo protagonist, as well as two historical novels. Her current novel, Blackberry Road, is available on Amazon. Her next historical novel, The Accidental Road, debuted a few weeks ago. She is hard at work on her sixth novel set in New Orleans and St. Louis. She currently resides in Arizona with her husband, her delightful 90+-year-old mother, a crazy Standard poodle named Jazz, two rescue cats, and numerous gigantic, bossy houseplants.

 The Accidental Road, Fire Star Press.

A teen and her mom escaping an abusive husband tumble into the epicenter of crime peddlers invading Arizona and Nevada in the 1950s. Stranded hundreds of miles from their planned destination of Las Vegas, they land in a dusty town full of ghosts and tales, treachery and corruption. Avoiding disaster is tricky, especially as it leads Kat into a fevered quest for things as simple as home and trust. Danger lurks everywhere, leading her to wonder if she and her mother really did take The Accidental Road of life, or if it’s the exact right road to all they ever hoped for.

Blackberry Road is published by Sundown Press and is available on Amazon.

Trouble sneaks in one hot Oklahoma afternoon in 1934 like an oily twister. A beloved neighbor is murdered, and a single piece of evidence sends the sheriff to arrest a Black man that Biddy *a sharecropper’s daughter* knows is innocent. Hauntingly terrifying sounds seeping from the woods lead Biddy into even deeper mysteries and despair, and finally into the shocking truths of that fateful summer.

Jodi Lea Stewart was born in Texas to an "Okie" mom and a Texan dad. Her younger years were spent in Texas and Oklahoma; hence, she knows all about biscuits and gravy, blackberry picking, chiggers, and snipe hunting. At the age of eight, she moved to a vast cattle ranch in the White Mountains of Arizona. As a teen, she left her studies at the University of Arizona in Tucson to move to San Francisco, where she learned about peace, love, and exactly what she DIDN'T want to do with her life. Since then, Jodi graduated summa cum laude with a BS in Business Management, raised three children, worked as an electro-mechanical drafter, penned humor columns for a college periodical, wrote regional western articles, and served as managing editor of a Fortune 500 corporate newsletter. 

• Coix lacryma-jobi – Job’s Tears’ scientific name – is a close relative to corn. The plants strongly resemble corn but are skinnier. It is considered one of the earliest domesticated plants.

• The beads have been used all over the world as a source of food and medicine.

• They can be ground into meal, or used as a coffee substitute.

• They are common in products sold in Asia. When supplies of rice were low during the Vietnam War, Job’s Tears became a staple substitute.

• In Japan, Korea, China, Taiwan and Vietnam, Job’s Tears are available as flakes or powder. They are often added to other grains, liquors, candy, bath products, vinegar, and tea.

• Hatomugi, the Japanese word for Job’s Tears, is used in traditional Japanese Kampo herbal medicine. The grain is valued as a nutritious food and has long been used in traditional Chinese medicine to support hair, skin, nails, and as a digestive aide.

• Here’s what Amazon says about them: This plant’s seeds are used in soups and broths, and can be used in any way that rice is used. They can also be ground into flour for making bread. The seeds are popular for making decorations and have herbal and medicinal uses. 

Growing Job’s Tears and stringing the beads into necklaces remains one of my fondest childhood memories. My mother learned about Job’s Tears from her mother. Why not make some passed down memories for your special girls and guys?

They’ll never forget it. 

Amazon has the seeds right now. And don’t forget to come back and tell us about it, okay?

 I always love to hear from you.

 The Accidental Road, Fire Star Press, debuts September 2019.

A teen and her mom escaping an abusive husband tumble into the epicenter of crime peddlers invading Arizona and Nevada in the 1950s. Stranded hundreds of miles from their planned destination of Las Vegas, they land in a dusty town full of ghosts and tales, treachery and corruption. Avoiding disaster is tricky, especially as it leads Kat into a fevered quest for things as simple as home and trust. Danger lurks everywhere, leading her to wonder if she and her mother really did take The Accidental Road of life, or if it’s the exact right road to all they ever hoped for.

Blackberry Road is published by Sundown Press and is available on Amazon.

Trouble sneaks in one hot Oklahoma afternoon in 1934 like an oily twister. A beloved neighbor is murdered, and a single piece of evidence sends the sheriff to arrest a Black man that Biddy *a sharecropper’s daughter* knows is innocent. Hauntingly terrifying sounds seeping from the woods lead Biddy into even deeper mysteries and despair, and finally into the shocking truths of that fateful summer.

Jodi Lea Stewart was born in Texas to an "Okie" mom and a Texan dad. Her younger years were spent in Texas and Oklahoma; hence, she knows all about biscuits and gravy, blackberry picking, chiggers, and snipe hunting. At the age of eight, she moved to a vast cattle ranch in the White Mountains of Arizona. As a teen, she left her studies at the University of Arizona in Tucson to move to San Francisco, where she learned about peace, love, and exactly what she DIDN'T want to do with her life. Since then, Jodi graduated summa cum laude with a BS in Business Management, raised three children, worked as an electro-mechanical drafter, penned humor columns for a college periodical, wrote regional western articles, and served as managing editor of a Fortune 500 corporate newsletter. 
She is the author of a contemporary trilogy set in the Navajo Nation and featuring a Navajo protagonist, as well as two historical novels. Her current novel, Blackberry Road, is available on Amazon. Her next historical novel, The Accidental Road, debuts in September 2019. She is hard at work on her sixth novel set in New Orleans and St. Louis. She currently resides in Arizona with her husband, her delightful 90+-year-old mother, a crazy Standard poodle named Jazz, two rescue cats, and numerous gigantic, bossy houseplants.