Welcome to my
release day spotlight on Steven Manchester’s The Rockin’ Chair. Please leave a comment or question for Steven
below to let him know you stopped by.
The Rockin’ Chair
By
Steven Manchester
Publisher: The Story Plant
Release
Date: June 18, 2013
Buy Links: Amazon │Barnes & Noble
Book Description:
Memories are the ultimate
contradiction. They can warm us on our coldest days – or they can freeze a
loved one out of our lives forever. The McCarthy family has a trove
of warm memories. Of innocent first kisses. Of sumptuous family meals. Of
wondrous lessons learned at the foot of a rocking chair. But
they also have had their share of icy ones. Of words that can never be unsaid.
Of choices that can never be unmade. Of actions that can never be undone.
Following the death of his beloved wife, John McCarthy – Grandpa John – calls his family back home. It is time for them to face the memories they have made, both warm and cold. Only then can they move beyond them and into the future.
A rich portrait of a family at a crossroad, THE ROCKIN' CHAIR is Steven Manchester’s most heartfelt and emotionally engaging novel to date. If family matters to you, it is a story you must read.
Following the death of his beloved wife, John McCarthy – Grandpa John – calls his family back home. It is time for them to face the memories they have made, both warm and cold. Only then can they move beyond them and into the future.
A rich portrait of a family at a crossroad, THE ROCKIN' CHAIR is Steven Manchester’s most heartfelt and emotionally engaging novel to date. If family matters to you, it is a story you must read.
Excerpt
Alice
could feel the sun on her eyelids before she dared opening them. Beginning with
a squint, she was blinded by the light that engulfed the room. Taking a second
to adjust, she shook off the two quilts that restrained her, and then grabbed
for her flowered housecoat at the foot of the massive bed. Throwing it on, she
steadied her tiny feet into a pair of worn moccasins, all-the-while wondering, Why
didn’t Ma let me sleep in? It don’t make no sense. It’s Saturday…with no responsibilities
to school or church. She felt tired, more exhausted than usual, but waking to a
fire burning into her pupils was certainly not the way to start such a pretty
day. Making the mental note, I’ll have to talk to Ma about the rude awakening,
she stumbled and had to brace herself at the doorway. Her mind had sent some
message that her body could not interpret. Brushing it off as fatigue, she
started again toward the kitchen, thinking, Maybe Ma will let me help with
breakfast?
Grabbing
the dented copper kettle off the stove, she turned to the sink and let the
water flow like one of the fresh mountain springs that ran out in the backyard.
She lit all four burners, placed the kettle back on the stove and began humming
a childish tune. The last embers in the wood stove made her nostrils flare at
the distinct scent of burnt oak. Smells like the remnants of a late night’s
chill, she thought, one of my chores to remove. But she couldn’t recall
bringing in the wood, or lighting a fire. Shrugging it off, she snugged down on
the robe’s cotton belt, folded her arms across her chest and continued to hum.
She
wandered toward the kitchen window and, though she could not have fought it
off, nor even detected it, her mind was suddenly exposed to a different
reality. Like a child discovering a new world through ancient eyes, she peered
out the window and her jaw went slack.
A
stranger was busy at work and the sight of him made Alice’s mouth go dry. Her
heart began to race and her breathing became shallow. Yet, though the man’s
presence absolutely terrified her, his every movement was hypnotizing.
Trembling, she stood paralyzed and watched.
He
was a large fellow, maybe six feet or better, with shoulders as broad as his
smile. In his fists, he held cracked corn, scattering it in a pattern so that
every chicken had its fair chance. He was an old-timer, his face wrinkled and
weathered like his callused hands. In the middle of that chiseled face sat the
biggest nose. Curiously—as if she’d thought it a million times before—she decided
that it showed great character. For a cruel second, he turned toward the
window, making her squirm with anxiety. She relaxed, though, when she was sure
that his liquid blue eyes had not found her. He returned to working slow, his
every move filled with purpose and kindness.
But
that moment of peace only lasted one single sigh of relief. As if caught in an
inescapable nightmare, she watched the man’s three-legged dog limp straight to
the window, glance up and tilt his head—cynically. Though she could not manage
the words from her constricted throat, her eyes begged for the animal’s
silence. Please don’t, she pleaded in her mind. Please…please…please… But it
was not to be. The crippled mutt barked out his wailing alarm, calling his
master’s attention to her. In an instant, she felt her knees buckle, as the
room spun slowly—in a cruel sort of way. She tried desperately to hold on, but
the last thing she saw was a red cap and green overcoat rushing for the house.
“Oh
God...no!” she screamed, but the stranger kept coming. He’s comin’ to get me,
she feared, and though her mind pleaded for her legs to flee, they would not
budge. She collapsed to the cold linoleum floor and awaited the worse.
With
no more than a stern look, Three Speed lay down on the porch, the storm door
slamming in his silver-haired face. John raced through the parlor and could
hear the teakettle screaming for help. Breaking the kitchen threshold, his
worried eyes caught Alice lying near the bottom cupboard. Her frail body was
rolled up in the fetal position and her thumb was stuck in her mouth. As if he
were approaching a wounded bird, he slowly kneeled down beside her and held out
his hand. She swayed back and forth, humming louder with each movement. For
what seemed a lifetime, she avoided his stare. And then finally, courageously,
she glanced into his eyes. For a moment, she looked as if she was going to
accept his hand but, in the last glimmer of such a hope, she pulled back,
retreating deeper into her tortured mind.
“It’s
me, darlin’,” John whispered. “It’s John…your husband.”
“You
do look some familiar,” she mumbled. But still, her eyes betrayed her lack of
trust.
Again,
he whispered, “Come on, Alice. I’m not gonna hurt ya. You’re just sick, ol’
girl.” He opened his hand even wider and watched as her horrified eyes
gradually registered his words as truth.
Like
an abandoned child who had lost all hope only to find that her parents had not
meant to leave her behind, Alice raised her arms and began to weep mournfully.
“I’m sorry…” she whimpered.
In
one easy motion, John scooped his tiny wife into his arms and kissed her
frightened face. Turning off all four burners—the majority that did nothing but
lick at air—he carried Alice like an infant to their bedroom. All the way, he
could taste the salt of her tears on his tongue. It was a bitter taste and he
hated it, yet he knew all-too-well that it was only a small taste of what was
still to come.
On
the way up the stairs, Alice sobbed, “I’m so stupid now…so dumb.”
“You
shoosh now,” John whispered. “That just ain’t true.”
He
placed her back into their four-poster bed and, conforming to their daily
ritual, gave her the two white pills and a small glass of water to wash them
down. He talked slow and gentle to her, trying to remove her fears and keep her
mind in the present. “Time to rest, Alice,” he whispered. “You just need to get
some rest, is all.”
For
a moment, she smiled—as if she believed him. But in the next moment, her eyes
filled with panic and she pushed herself toward the headboard, scrambling
desperately to create a safe distance between them. “Don’t you touch me,
mister!” she screamed. “Don’t you dare lay a finger on me!”
She’s
getting’ worse, he thought, and began humming a lullaby.
“Mama!
Mama…help me!” she screamed out, but as she called out in a panic for her
mother the pills began to take effect. He stroked her hair until her mind
eventually removed itself from the harsh reality of now and found a more
pleasant place to dwell. When John was sure that Alice would need nothing more,
he kissed her and returned the cap back onto his throbbing head.
Early Praise:
“The Rockin’ Chair is a heart-rending story of a family, separated by pride and ambition only to be brought together by thestrength of their ability to grow emotionally and spiritually. Manchester’s flawless dialogue, warm characters and compassionate wit all service a moving story. He brings the Montana farm to life and reminds us that simple sentiments are often the truest. His contrast of the permanence of the landscape with the transience of human life leaves us with a feeling of wonder long after the final page is turned.” - Corinna Underwood, Reviewer, Publisher’s Weekly
"The Rockin’ Chair is a tightly knit tearjerker.” - Jon Land, NY Times Bestselling Author; The Walls of Jericho
“In The Rockin’ Chair, Steven Manchester has created a book that can change the world. If only everyone would listen to Grampa John and express their love for each other, what a different world it would be.” - Heather Froeschl, Book Reviewer,BookReview.com
Author Bio: Steven
Manchester is the published author of the #1 best seller, Twelve
Months, as well as A Christmas Wish(the holiday prequel to Goodnight,
Brian) and Goodnight, Brian. He is also the Pressed Pennies, The Unexpected
Storm: TheGulf War Legacy and Jacob Evans, as well as
several books under the pseudonym, Steven Herberts. His work has
appeared on NBC's Today Show, CBS's The Early Show, CNN’s American
Morning and BET’s Nightly News. Recently, three of his short
stories were selected "101 Best" for Chicken Soup for the Soul series.
Happy release day.
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