{"id":768,"date":"2018-10-11T20:53:00","date_gmt":"2018-10-11T20:53:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.victoriasaccentiwrites.com\/?guid=1b0a9eb83d6edd26397f7ce91d124af8"},"modified":"2018-10-11T20:53:00","modified_gmt":"2018-10-11T20:53:00","slug":"noemies-journey-an-excerpt","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/victoriasaccentiwrites.com\/blog\/2018\/10\/11\/noemies-journey-an-excerpt\/","title":{"rendered":"No\u00e9mie’s Journey ~ An Excerpt"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Excerpt:<\/p>\n

CHAPTER ONE<\/o:p><\/div>\n
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No\u00e9mie shut the door of the station wagon harder than she intended. The worn-out Rambler she\u2019d affectionately named Mimi clanged and bounced side to side, indicating the shock absorbers were about to give up. She shuddered. This vehicle, with an overloaded U-Haul trailer in tow, had safely moved the Bellerose family from Louisiana to North Carolina and had been a helpful friend ever since. She\u2019d better treat Mimi with a little more care; otherwise, the car wouldn\u2019t last.<\/o:p><\/div>\n
Please, dear heaven, she needed Mimi to last.<\/o:p><\/div>\n
With a light pat to the roof in silent apology, she tucked the umbrella under her arm and walked as quickly as the wet sidewalk and scattered puddles would allow. It had rained buckets last night. She didn\u2019t need a twisted ankle or a nasty fall to compound her tardiness.<\/o:p><\/div>\n
She turned right at the corner of Pine and Maple, entering Summitville\u2019s commerce district, a charming four-block stretch lined with old-fashioned buildings\u2014businesses and shops occupied the bottom half, residences the top section. No\u00e9mie remembered reading an article in a local magazine about a devastating fire in February 1905. The conflagration had razed the original wooden edifices. But the gutsy residents didn\u2019t give up or move away. They dug in and rebuilt their town with sturdier brick structures while preserving the original design and quaint atmosphere. Their success had been so great that in 1911, the Summitville Clarion <\/i>had raved about the \u201cWonderful Growth of Summitville.\u201d<\/o:p><\/div>\n
Nevertheless, whenever she walked along this section of Maple Street, she couldn\u2019t help the eerie sensation of entering an ancient era, or maybe a shadow world, where specters of shop owners, dressed in black garb and white aprons\u2014clinging stubbornly to this earthly plane\u2014watched as she passed by.<\/o:p><\/div>\n
She picked up her pace as she rummaged one-handed inside her bottomless purse. Her set of store keys loved playing hide-and-seek among the countless doodahs she carried. She arrived at the front door of Stories Forever and stopped dead. Mr. Thornton had beaten her to the punch. The bookstore\u2019s lights were on, and the OPEN sign faced outward. Controlling her rapid breaths, she walked inside.<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cBonjour, ch\u00e8re.\u201d<\/o:p><\/div>\n
The raspy voice of Mr. Thornton, the owner of Stories Forever, came from behind a tall pile of books on his desk. A disembodied hand appeared, waving a pencil.<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cGood morning, Mr. Thornton.\u201d<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cHeavens, child. Fred, the name is Fred.\u201d As Mr. Thornton\u2019s weathered face popped up from the mound of paperbacks, a lock of silver hair fell over his forehead. \u201cI didn\u2019t realize you had such a tough, stubborn streak. We\u2019ve known each other too long. Formalities are for strangers.\u201d<\/o:p><\/div>\n
No\u00e9mie hung her jacket on the coat-tree, hooked her umbrella on top, and walked toward him.<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cI know. I know. You and your wife, Diane, assumed the role of grandparents when I needed help the most. I\u2019ll never be able to repay the love and support you\u2019ve offered Gerry and me. But using your first name during business hours, especially when customers are present, don\u2019t feel right. Some folks might object. Find the familiarity between us offensive. It\u2019s the way of things.\u201d<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cPshaw. Ridiculous. I don\u2019t believe in that nonsense, and neither should you. \u2019Sides, times are changing. The old customs are dying, and it\u2019s about time. Most people in town share my views.\u201d<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cUh\u2026your friends do. The rest of Summitville ain\u2019t as open-minded. Your crazy ideas amuse the townsfolk, and that\u2019s why they tolerate you. And don\u2019t you forget, Maple Street is the way north and south. Not everyone who comes shopping is from these parts. Fred.\u201d She whispered the last, leaning close to his face. \u201cAre these the latest arrivals?\u201d Changing topics, she picked up a thick recipe book.<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cYes, my dear. And today, you\u2019re going to be quite busy restocking the shelves. A box full of DC <\/i>and Marvel comics is next to my feet, which means a throng of kids will invade the store after school. Vogue <\/i>and Good Housekeeping <\/i>issues are in the back room. <\/i>We received an assortment of New York Times<\/i>\u2019 fiction best sellers. Take a look at the stack, from detective stories to thrillers and spies. I haven\u2019t unpacked all the boxes yet. And\u2026ta-da\u2026\u201d He beamed, holding up a paperback with an unusual blue-and-white cover.<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cMr. Thornton, the title is in Spanish. And what the heck is that on the cover?\u201d She squinted at the junglelike design. \u201cIt\u2026looks like\u2026 Is that the skeleton of a Spanish galleon?\u201d<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cYes to both, ch\u00e8re. Sort of a confusing, mishmash drawing, I\u2019ll admit. Still, I\u2019ve died and gone to heaven. This\u2026this beauty right here is a treasure, one of the most important works to come out of Latin America in recent years.\u201d<\/o:p><\/div>\n
She snickered at the reverence in his tone.<\/o:p><\/div>\n
Mr. Thornton frowned. \u201cMake fun of an old man if you like. The literary world has gone gaga over this book. I\u2019ll give you my flawed interpretation of the title. \u2018A hundred years of solitude.\u2019 Marvelous concept. I could wait until it\u2019s officially translated, but I\u2019m going to test my Spanish skills and dive right in. Might as well, since you won\u2019t help with French.\u201d<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cNow who\u2019s being stubborn? I\u2019ve told you, but you won\u2019t listen. I speak a few words of French. That\u2019s it. Gram was the expert, not me.\u201d<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cHere\u2019s one you might find interesting and compelling.\u201d<\/o:p><\/div>\n
He lifted a different book as if she hadn\u2019t spoken. \u201cThe Confessions of Nat Turner<\/i> by William Styron. It\u2019s about the 1831 slave revolt in Virginia. I think you\u2019ll find it interesting. However, you\u2019re not reading it until you\u2019ve finished with Shakespeare\u2019s King Richard the Second<\/i>.\u201d<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cAha. John of Gaunt\u2019s immortal speech.\u201d<\/o:p><\/div>\n
No\u00e9mie dropped the cookbook on the desk and extended her arms wide. Gliding in exaggerated dance-like steps, she slipped to the center of the room. Inhaling dramatically, she spoke. \u201c\u2018This fortress built by Nature for herself\u2026this blessed plot, this earth, this realm\u2026this England.\u2019 Act two, scene one.\u201d She bowed and laughed.<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cBrava. Encore, encore.\u201d Fred applauded. \u201cSo, I guess you\u2019re finished?\u201d<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cI\u2019m halfway through. Confession time. I remember the words from watching Sherlock Holmes and the Secret Weapon<\/i>. My mother loved the film. Every time it came on TV, we\u2019d sit together and watch. He cheated, you know, Basil Rathbone. In the movie\u2019s epilogue, he skips around Gaunt\u2019s speech. But I\u2019m going to memorize it the right way. At least the famous parts, for Mom\u2026\u201d<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cAww. Don\u2019t get upset, ch\u00e8re. I know you miss her.\u201d<\/o:p><\/div>\n
Tears stung her eyes. She pulled her brows together, trying to hold them back. \u201cI miss them both, Gram and Mom.\u201d<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cUh-oh. She\u2019s heading this way.\u201d Mr. Thornton\u2019s disconnected comment and worried grimace erased her sad thoughts.<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cWho?\u201d<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cSerena and her two suck-ups, your alleged friends. I saw them go into Bart\u2019s drugstore. Eventually, they\u2019ll come here. I don\u2019t understand why you humor them.\u201d<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cHumor? I can\u2019t avoid her.\u201d No\u00e9mie glanced across the street. \u201cShe is the county\u2019s social queen and official gossip. Gotta stay on her good side, even if it\u2019s nothing but pretense. Otherwise\u2026 Ah, why bother talking about it. How do I look? \u2019Cause she\u2019s gonna check me up and down. I\u2019m not in the mood to give her more ammo than she already has.\u201d<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cYou look fine to me. But I\u2019m a reading man and not a fashion expert, as my wife will tell you. A week will pass before I notice she\u2019s cut her hair or changed her color. Better check in the mirror.\u201d Mr. Thornton pointed his thumb to the archway connecting the store to the back room.<\/o:p><\/div>\n
No\u00e9mie rushed to the tiny warehouse. One side was packed full with unopened boxes, the contents waiting to be sorted and distributed. To her left, next to the shop\u2019s bathroom, a full-length mirror had been installed when the office space was remodeled into a storage area.<\/o:p><\/div>\n
Staring at her image, she smoothed down the cotton aquamarine dress with capped sleeves. Not exactly the height of fashion, although the hemline followed the trend, two inches above the knee, and the color worked with her golden caf\u00e9 au lait skin tone. Gram had sewn it for her, and she would wear it until she could see through the fabric. So far, her long mane behaved. It had a mind of its own and could get unruly with rain and humidity. She\u2019d pinned up her curly tresses at both sides, keeping the hair out of her face and eyes for work. The rest, as she\u2019d hoped, cascaded in soft coils to the middle of her back. Makeup checked out, not too much, not too little. Serena\u2019s catty nitpicking might be stymied today. She nodded in approval and returned to the store just as the terrible trio\u2014whose remarks instilled terror in the hearts of Summitville females\u2014entered Stories Forever.<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cBelly, girl\u2026 There you are,\u201d Serena murmured, signaling for the two women behind her to follow. A monarch in her domain\u2014her regal bouffant perfectly coiffed\u2014she surveyed the room and the occupants, smiled, then nodded, once. She continued toward the bookcases, adding a slight shift of hips to her step. She trailed a finger from one shelf to the next. The smooth, oily drawl and condescending attitude gave No\u00e9mie the creeps.<\/o:p><\/div>\n
Mr. Thornton groaned, hiding his disapproving face behind the books he\u2019d stacked. No\u00e9mie stood at his back.<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cGood morning, Serena. What brings you around?\u201d No\u00e9mie asked.<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cOh, nothing much. I thought Vogue <\/i>might have arrived.\u201d<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cGlamour <\/i>is always the first to come out. I don\u2019t see it.\u201d Betty\u2014sycophant number two and the most ill-mannered\u2014pouted. She stood next to the empty shelf that was usually overloaded with every conceivable magazine in the country, from Seventeen<\/i> to Popular Mechanics<\/i>.<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cIf you come back later, ladies,\u201d Mr. Thornton intervened. \u201cAll the fashion mags will be out and available. Everything was delivered this morning. No\u00e9mie and I haven\u2019t had a moment to sort them out yet.\u201d<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cShame, shame. Belly girl getting lazy on you, Mr. Thornton?\u201d Serena tapped a finger at the corner of her lips.<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cYoung lady, that\u2019s no\u2014\u201d<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cNot lazy, Serena. I was late, that\u2019s all. Gerry\u2019s school bus was running behind, and I drove him.\u201d No\u00e9mie spoke before Mr. Thornton got involved in a useless verbal tussle with Serena.<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cWhy, sugar\u2026 I was only joshing. No need to get all huffy and stuff. Right, ladies?\u201d<\/o:p><\/div>\n
With perfect synchronicity, Serena\u2019s entourage stretched their necks, turned to Serena, and nodded.<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cHuffy? Not me. I know you like to kid around.\u201d No\u00e9mie agreed for the sake of peace. She could almost see steam streaming out of Mr. Thornton\u2019s ears.<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cYou haven\u2019t told her yet, Serena,\u201d Sue said, moving to the cookbook section.<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll bet she doesn\u2019t know.\u201d Betty winked, last month\u2019s Harlequin novel in hand.<\/o:p><\/div>\n
No\u00e9mie wanted to roll her eyes. Serena\u2019s minions did their best, but the temptation campaign didn\u2019t work. Whatever held their interest, she didn\u2019t care one whit.<\/o:p><\/div>\n
\u201cI declare. You\u2019re both so right. I guess\u2026\u201d<\/o:p><\/div>\n
Serena left the sentence hanging while she continued sashaying from shelf to shelf\u2014her strange way to attract attention and build suspense.<\/o:p><\/div>\n
No\u00e9mie\u2019s bored mind wandered off. Two weeks ago, an unfortunate woman had worn the wrong dress to church, an outfit a little too risqu\u00e9 in a style that belonged in the previous decade. Serena\u2019s gossip machine ran full tilt. No one saw the lady in question again. Then last week, Serena discovered an upcoming betrothal before the Summitville Daily<\/i> had a chance to publish the event. The couple quarreled, postponed the wedding, and the editor of the social pages threatened to sue. Serena shrugged it off. What could the paper do when Dan Long was a member of the board of directors? Today\u2019s target could be anything just as inconsequential. Had anyone been jilted? Had a drunk been spotted stumbling within the town limits?<\/o:p><\/div>\n
Had anyone slighted Serena?<\/o:p><\/div>\n
Woe to the soul who snubbed or disrespected her royal highness, Serena Long. No\u00e9mie included herself in that observation. Serena flaunted No\u00e9mie Bellerose as her token colored<\/i> friend, and as much as she hated being used, she had to swallow the treatment under a meek smile and lowered humble eyes.<\/o:p><\/div>\n
Mr. Thornton\u2019s optimistic statements were not as popular and widespread as he claimed, and life\u2019s unkind lessons had taught her a little pragmatism. A measure of levelheadedness she hoped would keep her afloat in these troubled times. She lived south of the Mason-Dixon line, where the racial divide was still an abyss. The big wheels in Washington DC could pass a ton of well-intended civil rights acts, but a piece of paper with fancy lettering and impressive seals didn\u2019t sway minds or unlock hearts.<\/o:p><\/div>\n

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