I have the pleasure of sharing a guest post with a deleted scene from author Jean Rabe with a title that is an interesting play on the events of the story. I apologize that technical difficulties, i.e. a black hole in my mailbox, lol, prevented me from posting this in a timely manner!
When I reviewed my finished novel, The Bone Shroud, I decided to take one
more pass to trim and tighten it. Among the cuts was an entire chapter. I liked
the chapter; I thought it gave some insight into two of my secondary
characters. But it wasn’t necessary. The scene was not required to move the
story forward. I present it here, a little window opening into Sister Sophia’s
life.
“What is your life? It
is a vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes away.” Sophia spoke
in English to the child, as Hamadi insisted that be his son’s primary language.
The boy would learn other languages when he was older. Only age five; the one
tongue was sufficient for now.
She selected another
passage: “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the
Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.”
“Shadows,” the boy said.
“You and Papa talk about shadows.” The boy had dark brown eyes, seemingly
always wide with wonder; and long lashes that she envied. His hair was the
color of polished maple and had soft curls. It covered the tips of his ears and
should be trimmed. “I like to make animal shadows with my hands.”
He perched on the edge
of a high-backed chair across from her, gaze fixed on the large book in her
lap. It was old and valuable, an illuminated vellum manuscript—one of a set
that together was a hand-printed bible from the 1300s. It was written in Latin,
which Sophia could translate. Someday the boy would be taught to read Latin,
too. The colorful letters and gold trim held his attention.
“James, do you
understand what that means? Coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights,
who does not change like shifting shadows?”
“Shadows,” the boy
repeated. Then he drew the word out like he toyed with it: “Shaaaadows. Papa
talks about being in God’s shadow.”
“You overheard us
talking about being in the shadow of a man from some time ago,” she kindly
corrected.
“Did Papa know him, this
man?”
“The man lived a long,
long time ago, James.”
“Before Papa was born?”
She smiled. “Hundreds
and hundreds of years before your father was born.”
“So he’s dead, right?”
“A very long time ago.
He choked after a feast in honor of his most recent wedding.” She surprised
herself by being so blunt with the boy. “Some say he was murdered. Poisoned.
But it was so many centuries ago no one knows for certain.”
“But they’re certain
he’s dead?”
“Yes.”
“He should have chewed
his food better. He might not have choked.”
“I suppose he should
have.”
“Or he should not have
angered people. Then he might not have been murdered.”
“Yes, he should have
been nicer.”
“But he wasn’t.”
“No, James, he wasn’t.”
“He’s still dead.”
“Yes, James.”
The boy rubbed his chin.
“Then how can you and Papa be in his shadow if he’s dead? He’d be all bones.
There wouldn’t be much of a shadow, just bones. It would be a skinny shadow and
Papa would not fit in a skinny shadow. You are skinny, but not as skinny as
bones. I’ve seen pictures of bones and—”
Sophia let out a long
breath and James quieted. Hamadi entrusted James to her a few hours every day.
Part of the time was play, sometimes she walked in the vineyard with him, but
mostly she read and tried to teach him something. Already he could read
rudimentary children’s books. He was the proverbial sponge soaking up so much,
ahead of his years. Blessed. She hadn’t intended a history lesson today.
“An archaeologist friend
of your father’s is digging—”
“Archaeologists build
houses.”
“No, that’s architects,
and they design houses.
Archaeologists discover history by digging in the dirt.”
“Why?”
“—do they dig?”
“No. Why does the
ar-kay-ol-o-gist look for a mean dead man’s bones?” The boy drew out words that
were new to him. “What good are old bones, Sister Sophia? Why dig up a buried
man? If you bury someone aren’t they supposed to stay buried?”
“I—” Sophia studied his
face. James looked honestly curious. “Usually yes.”
“I want to go to the
museum. The Conservatori.”
“Tomorrow, James. I
promised you we would go tomorrow.”
“You keep your promises,
Sister Sophia.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Papa said I could come
to the party tonight.”
“For a little while,”
Sophia said, grateful he had changed the subject. Despite his brilliance, the
boy’s attention often wandered from one topic to the next. “There will be
music, a local folk band. Some dancing.”
“I like music. You will
dance with me Sister Sophia?” James did not wait for her to answer. “I like
music a lot. Musica it is called in
Italian. It sounds better in Italian than English.” James smiled, his face
dimpled and his eyes widened. He slipped off the chair and started to sing:
“A frog he would
a-wooing go. Heigho, says Rowley. Whether his mother would let him or no. With
a rowley powley gammon and spinach. Heigho, says Anthony Rowley.” He stopped
and looked expectantly at Sophia.
She picked up the next
part: “So off he set with his opera hat. Heigho, says Rowley. And on the road
he met a rat. With a rowley powley gammon and spinach.”
The boy continued.
“Pray, Mr. Rat, will you go with me—”
Sophia thought he had a
strong, clear voice for one so young, and that he’d memorized the entire “frog”
song and several others suggested to her that he was going to go far in life.
Hamadi had great ambitions for his son. She was doing her best to help,
teaching him phonics and a rudimentary understanding of the alphabet and
forming words, teaching him the Bible and about early Christian sects.
Though James always
showed interest in the religious tomes in his father’s collection, his favorite
book was no great piece of literature in her mind. It was insipid: Green Eggs and Ham…the author had used
only fifty different words, and James could read it, had memorized it. The boy
would be enrolled in a private school for the gifted next year, where they
focused on reading and math, and where he would select a musical instrument to
play.
“When they came to the
door at Mousey’s hall. Heigho, says Rowley. They gave a loud tap, and they gave
a loud call. With a rowley powley—”
Sophia wished James was
as interested in scripture as he was his Dr. Seuss books and silly songs. She
took him to church on Sundays—different churches on occasion so he could
experience various arms of the Christian faith, but sometimes had to leave him
in the daycare room because he could not yet sit through an entire sermon
without squirming and making a ruckus.
“Pray Mrs. Mouse, are
you within? Heigho, says Rowley. Yes, kind sirs, and sitting to spin. With a
rowley powley—” He tugged on her skirt, and she sang the next line.
“Pray Mr. Frog, will you
give us a song. Heigho, says Rowley. But let it be something that’s not very
long.” Sophia shuddered as James continued the song…about a cat and kittens
appearing and eating the rat and mouse, and a verse later a lilywhite duck
gobbling up the frog.
“With a rowley powley
gammon and spinach!” James clapped and twirled, then hoisted himself back into
the chair. “Rana. That’s the Italian
word for frog. Sometimes it’s ranocchio.
They don’t sound right in my song.” He suddenly looked all serious. “Read me
more, Sister Sophia. Read to me from Papa’s old book.”
She did, and he listened
attentively—or at least politely pretended to. Sophia earnestly hoped he caught
some of the meaning behind the words. After more than a half hour, he started
to fidget. It had been her longest session of reading scripture. She finished
with one of her favorite passages: “What good is it, my brothers and sisters,
if people claim to have faith but have no deeds? Can such faith save them?”
“I will have good deeds,
Sister Sophia,” James said. “And I will go to heaven. All Dogs Go To Heaven…I saw that movie. That dead man with the
shadow … he is not in heaven, is he? I would not like to meet his mean ghost.”
“No, such as he is
denied heaven.”
“He’s in the dark place,
right?”
“Yes, James.”
“But I will go to
heaven, Sister Sophia.”
“I am certain you will,
child.”
“Is anyone among you in
trouble? Let them pray. Is anyone happy? Let them sing,” James said.
Sophia’s mouth went
wide. It was the first time James had quoted scripture back to her. Five years
old. Truly gifted, destined for something amazing. Sophia knew with all
certainty she had done the right thing, leaving the convent for this new
endeavor, helping Hamadi, and finding a new calling on the grounds of this
perfect vineyard…even if part of her work involved trespassing in cemeteries
late at night.
“Is anyone happy? I am
happy, Sister Sophia. I will sing another song.” He slid off the chair once
more and ran to the window. “Sister help to trim the sails, Hallelujah. Sister
help to trim the sails, Hallelujah. Jordan’s river is deep and wide—”
Sophia carefully closed
the book and returned it to the shelf. Hamadi had so many old and valuable
books, though she considered this illuminated Bible set the finest. One of a
kind, priceless, holy.
James continued to sing,
misremembering the lyrics and making up some of his own. “Sister help to trim
the sails,” he sang. “For Froggy and I are fond of good cheer. With a rowley,
powley, gammon and spinach. Hallelujah!”
“Would you like to play,
James? Outside? The weather is lovely.”
The boy turned from the
window and rushed to the door. “Croquet, Sister Sophia!”
“That would be fine.”
“The sun is out,” he
announced. “It makes shaaaadows.”
*************************
The Bone Shroud
by
Jean Rabe
Genre: Mystery/suspense
Date of Publication: March 30, 2018
ABOUT THE BOOK
Irem Madigan’s wedding trip to Rome turns into a desperate search for
an archaeological prize, and a struggle to stay ahead of a killer.
Set in and under Rome, The Bone Shroud is a love story wrapped in a perilous relic-hunt.
Irem flies to Italy to be the “best man” in her brother’s wedding.
He’s marrying an archaeologist bent on revealing the graves of some
famous ancient dead. Irem, an archivist at the Chicago Field Museum,
becomes obsessed with the centuries-old mysteries.
Unfortunately, Irem discovers there are other players in the game,
and some of them are playing deadly. Can she survive and uncover the
ancient secrets?
“Intrigue, romance, and danger amid the relics of Rome’s storied
past, with compelling characters and building tension that will keep you
turning pages!” Gail Z. Martin, bestselling author of Vendetta
“Strong
characters, shady dealings, ruthless villains, a beautiful setting, an
ancient mystery–The Bone Shroud has ’em all. Don’t miss it!” New York
Times bestselling Richard Baker, author of Valiant Dust
Amazon link
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jean Rabe is the author of three
dozen novels and more than a hundred short stories. When she’s not writing or
editing, she tosses tennis balls to her dogs, indulges in fantasy football
leagues, and fuses glass jewelry in her basement.
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******************
GIVEAWAY
******************
My review:
4 stars
The Bone Shroud by Jean Rabe provides a delicious look at
the city beneath the streets of Rome as an intrepid archivist from the renowned
Chicago Field Museum gets involved in a remarkable treasure hunt. The ambiance
of the rich cultural resources is nicely evoked, with a chilling counterpoint
of the danger and excitement attendant with searching for history that some may
feel better off left buried. There are shivery violence-laden scenes that
contrast with the slowly building heat between the heroine and the policeman
she keeps crossing paths with, and at times I almost couldn’t decide if I was
willing to continue reading without the reassuring light of day!
Although the heroine ostensibly is a combination of many of
the characteristics I like—intelligent, loyal, and kick-ass—she tended to irk
me at times, and I never quite connected with her. To me, she is a bit
wishy-washy at times…with respect to her job, her brother’s joy in his new
life, and the excavation her brother’s fiancé is involved with. I also found
the ending less than satisfying, as there are plenty of dangling threads that
have yet to be resolved.
Despite all of these drawbacks, I enjoyed the chance to
armchair travel and develop a desire to retrace these characters’ footsteps (at
least the ones above ground, lol). The mystical aspect combined with the
frightening ruthlessness of the villains who have their own lofty agenda makes
this an entertaining and thought-provoking story that is vividly portrayed. I
hope the next story will be coming soon, as I am impatient to discover what is
going to happen next.
A copy of this title was provided to me for review.
