The Spirits Trilogy Book One
Haunts of the Heart
The story...
Deanna Butterworth escapes the pain and indignity of dying in a cold, heartless hospital by fleeing to her beloved but now abandoned childhood home. But instead of peace and refuge, she finds the place haunted by two very lively ghosts. Neal, an amiable if confused spirit, steals her heart. But it is Anthony, desperate to hide his dark secrets, who threatens her soul. Snatched away to the past, Deanna must risk all she holds dear to uncover the treachery that has bound Neal and Anthony to her house since their deaths in 1864.
HAUNTS OF THE HEART is an award winning Civil War ghost story for adults.
Highly recommended by Patricia White of Under the Covers Book Reviews:
"HAUNTS OF THE HEART is both contemporary and historical, a love story, a ghostly triangle and a real one, a murder, a suicide, an unlikely heroine, and a hero that is far from heroic. It is a splendid read. Written with power, verve, sensitivity, and insight, HAUNTS OF THE HEART opens new vistas in the romance genre--where, to my knowledge, it is unique (and most wonderfully so), breaking most of the established "rules" of what a romance should be and making us wonder why the rules were established in the first place. I wish each of you the joy of discovering Ms. Scott's work. It is incredible in its scope and vision. Deanna Butterworth is a heroine you won't soon forget--but possibly Anthony Linville and the Angel of Death will haunt you longer. Ms. Scott, you have engaged my mind and tugged at my heart."
Excerpt:
It's a funny old world. A man is lucky to get out of it alive.W.C. Fields
She slipped away in the dead of night, past the night nurse crocheting an afghan at the nurses' station, down six flights of dimly lit stairs to the emergency exit.
THIS DOOR FOR EMERGENCY USE ONLY. ALARM WILL SOUND.
But it didn't.
Out into the street and away.
Faster than it should have been possible, she was safe. Cocooned in the window seat of the house she called home, a book from her childhood nestled in her lap, Deanna was feeling much better than she'd felt for days. If it weren't for the visions troubling her reading, she'd have begun to hope.
She knew what they were. Visits from the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. Unlike Scrooge, she need not ask if the future could be altered. She knew it could not be.
Inevitably, inexorably, the visions would become fact. The doctor would shake his head and say he was sorry. Her mother would cry. Her father would be stoic. The operation was a success. Nothing should have gone wrong. Except, everything did.
For a time, though, she could hide. If she died before they found her, she would at least not have to endure the beady-eyed contempt of the head nurse or the snickering looks of the aides. She would not have to listen to the whispers they thought she was beyond hearing.
"Such a tragedy, and so young, too."
"She brought it on herself, I heard. It's a blessing when they take no one else with them."
"I passed the wreck on the way in this morning. It's a miracle she's living."
"Depends on how you look at it. Is that the boyfriend?"
"The hunk? Yeah. I think he's found a real soft shoulder to cry on. Take a peek at him and the blonde."
Deanna shut out the echoes of her memory and the vision of Libby consoling Jay. She tossed aside her half-read book and went searching for another. Her eyes roamed up and down the wall of dusty shelves as she remembered the day she and her father had stocked them. Armed with a tape measure and two shopping carts, they had invaded the canvas-tent of the charity book fair. They measured out ten feet of books in each labeled section of nonfiction, plus thirty feet of fiction, plus a yard and a half of children's classics, plus two inches worth of a moldy diary her father found in the rare book section.
Because the diary was in pen and ink and fading into illegibility, it was the cheapest rare book in the pile. According to tape measurements, opened, the opened leather and parchment book would fit exactly into the glass encased pedestal her mother had purchased at a bankruptcy auction. Even now their rare book was ensconced in its shelter, while their other literary acquisitions lined the walls and mingled with books left behind by previous owners.
Deanna squinted into the locked case at the brown script of the rare book. She could recite by heart the entries on those pages, marked by a faded blue ribbon. .
"...convicted and sentenced to death. I only pray I will arrive in time with evidence to prevent the conviction and stop the execution. But there is little hope if I cannot convince him to help."\
Then in a bolder hand:
"March 31:
"Up all night searching, but in vain. Now I have lost her forever. And with the morning light another will face death because of..."
That was all. Deanna's mother had selected the page in the center of the diary and enshrined it for eternity in the locked glass case. She could never understand her daughter's interest in its contents. “Those people are dead and gone, for heaven's sake. Forget them and wake up to the real world for a change, Deanna."
It's a funny old world. A man is lucky to get out of it alive.W.C. Fields
She slipped away in the dead of night, past the night nurse crocheting an afghan at the nurses' station, down six flights of dimly lit stairs to the emergency exit.
THIS DOOR FOR EMERGENCY USE ONLY. ALARM WILL SOUND.
But it didn't.
Out into the street and away.
Faster than it should have been possible, she was safe. Cocooned in the window seat of the house she called home, a book from her childhood nestled in her lap, Deanna was feeling much better than she'd felt for days. If it weren't for the visions troubling her reading, she'd have begun to hope.
She knew what they were. Visits from the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. Unlike Scrooge, she need not ask if the future could be altered. She knew it could not be.
Inevitably, inexorably, the visions would become fact. The doctor would shake his head and say he was sorry. Her mother would cry. Her father would be stoic. The operation was a success. Nothing should have gone wrong. Except, everything did.
For a time, though, she could hide. If she died before they found her, she would at least not have to endure the beady-eyed contempt of the head nurse or the snickering looks of the aides. She would not have to listen to the whispers they thought she was beyond hearing.
"Such a tragedy, and so young, too."
"She brought it on herself, I heard. It's a blessing when they take no one else with them."
"I passed the wreck on the way in this morning. It's a miracle she's living."
"Depends on how you look at it. Is that the boyfriend?"
"The hunk? Yeah. I think he's found a real soft shoulder to cry on. Take a peek at him and the blonde."
Deanna shut out the echoes of her memory and the vision of Libby consoling Jay. She tossed aside her half-read book and went searching for another. Her eyes roamed up and down the wall of dusty shelves as she remembered the day she and her father had stocked them. Armed with a tape measure and two shopping carts, they had invaded the canvas-tent of the charity book fair. They measured out ten feet of books in each labeled section of nonfiction, plus thirty feet of fiction, plus a yard and a half of children's classics, plus two inches worth of a moldy diary her father found in the rare book section.
Because the diary was in pen and ink and fading into illegibility, it was the cheapest rare book in the pile. According to tape measurements, opened, the opened leather and parchment book would fit exactly into the glass encased pedestal her mother had purchased at a bankruptcy auction. Even now their rare book was ensconced in its shelter, while their other literary acquisitions lined the walls and mingled with books left behind by previous owners.
Deanna squinted into the locked case at the brown script of the rare book. She could recite by heart the entries on those pages, marked by a faded blue ribbon. .
"...convicted and sentenced to death. I only pray I will arrive in time with evidence to prevent the conviction and stop the execution. But there is little hope if I cannot convince him to help."\
Then in a bolder hand:
"March 31:
"Up all night searching, but in vain. Now I have lost her forever. And with the morning light another will face death because of..."
That was all. Deanna's mother had selected the page in the center of the diary and enshrined it for eternity in the locked glass case. She could never understand her daughter's interest in its contents. “Those people are dead and gone, for heaven's sake. Forget them and wake up to the real world for a change, Deanna."
Available
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http://www.desertbreezepublishing.com/spirits-book-one-haunts-of-the-heart-epub/
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