I’m growing my second “crop” of hair for Locks of Love.
My feet are weird, size 9AAA.
My husband does all of our menu planning, grocery shopping, and cooking.
My mother has written more than 25 books, and she’s still at it.
I despise everything about cocoanut--the taste, smell, texture, and those horribly hairy husks.
Carlene Havel has lived in six US States and two foreign
countries, and has traveled extensively throughout the world.
She is very active in her church and has a degree in English
from the University of Texas at San Antonio. Carlene and
her husband Glenn are both proud to be native Texans.
Sharon Faucheux was born in New
Orleans, LA. Raised in Austin, Texas, she graduated from the
University of Texas with a degree in Psychology. After living in
several others states and countries, she now resides in San
Antonio, TX. Sharon’s favorite activity is traveling with her
always entertaining family.
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Check out Carlene Havel's and Sharon Faucheux's latest novel THE SCARLET CORD
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Rahab, a resourceful beauty, struggles to survive in the pagan culture of ancient Jericho. As years of harsh labor begin to lift her and her family from poverty, a foreign army threatens the well-fortified city. Rahab is forced to make an immediate decision. Will she put her faith in the fabled walls of Jericho or the powerful God of the Hebrews? Either choice may cost her life.
EXCERPT
Copyright
2014© Carlene Havel & Sharon Faucheux
Are these men up to no good? While attempting to believe there
was no cause for alarm, Rahab considered whether she might need
to defend herself. Was the baking paddle enough to frighten the
men away? Or was it better to snatch her knife from the holster
over her shoulder and scream for Karmot? These men looked
healthy and strong enough to overpower her and her father. Yet
they did not strike her as violent, merely unusual.
Pulling the perfectly browned bread from the oven, Rahab put on
a bright smile. “Oh, I am sorry. Were you speaking to me?” She
turned the fresh bread onto the stone table. “Smells delicious,
does it not?” she asked. “With my good wine and ghee made just
this morning, you will be refreshed from your journey.”
“Thank you, mira.”
The travelers looked similar enough to other Egyptians who
passed through Jericho occasionally. Was it their slightly
different manner of speaking? Perhaps they were not from
Alexandria but some more remote area of the land of the
pharaohs. Regardless of where they came from, they were
foreigners. Therefore, the king’s men would make it their
business to evaluate whether or not the visitors had legitimate
business in the city. Because of the Hebrews, the king’s men
were especially interested in anyone who passed through the city
gate these days.
Rahab decided to bide her time and keep the strangers occupied
until the soldiers came to question them. She was confident in
her ability to kindle her male guests’ interest. “You have
traveled many days from your wives and families,” she said as
she served wine. “No doubt you miss them.”
The tall man continued to eat, while the shorter turned his face
toward her.
“My inn offers you nourishment and lodging,” Rahab continued.
She stretched her arms and trailed the fingertips of her right
hand slowly along her left forearm. “There are times when a man
needs more than food and shelter.”
The men’s reactions were not in accordance with Rahab’s
expectations. The tall, quiet one seemed amused, while the
shorter man wore a look of surprise. Tossing her hair, Rahab
slowly licked her lips. At this point, most men began to
negotiate a price for her services or—more rarely—gave her a
reluctant refusal. These fellows did neither. Why were they so
slow? Do they know nothing of how to conduct business?
Rahab went to stand behind the men. The taller one continued to
eat and drink, as if unaware of her presence. She leaned over
the shorter man to rearrange the food on the stone table. As she
did so, she rested a hand lightly on the man’s shoulder. He
jumped away, as if her touch burned his body. “You are a
harlot!” he exclaimed. The tall man stifled a laugh.
“Yes, I am,” Rahab replied, drawing her hand away. “What do you
expect at an inn?”
“I expect decency and honor in all things,” the shorter man
said. “But then, I suppose I forget what kind of pagans—”
The tall man held up a hand, and his companion fell silent.
Rahab was accustomed to men too poor to afford her services, but
the reactions of these two puzzled her. One seemed completely
indifferent, while the other made her feel unclean. The truth
flew into her mind with such force it escaped from her mouth.
“You are Hebrews.”
“Yes, we are,” the tall man said, much to Rahab’s surprise.
They were such beautiful young men. What a pity for them to be
impaled in the public place. “Do you not know the king’s men
keep track of foreigners in Jericho, because of all the trouble
across the river? If you hurry, you may be able to escape.”
The shorter man quickly pushed his food away, stood up, and
shook out his clothing. The taller one turned and faced Rahab.
“Will you hide us?” he asked.
“I could be executed for helping you. And my whole family along
with me.” Looking into his eyes made her heart beat faster. Yet
his face would no longer be handsome after a beating from the
soldiers’ rods.
The tall man spoke gently. “Help us and you will live when we
take this city.”
“Take Jericho? You cannot,” she whispered. “Our walls…”
“Your walls are nothing to the Lord. We will conquer this city
and all others who stand in our way, just as we have overcome
the Amorites.” His manner conveyed absolute confidence. “Our
lives in exchange for yours. Yes or no?”
Rahab never understood exactly why she believed the Hebrews
would prevail. Yet in that moment, she knew it was true. Jericho
will fall before the powerful God of the Hebrews! So many
thoughts swirled in her head. She remembered the morning when
she broke away from her father’s household to find her own way
in the world. Others called her actions foolish, but in the end
her family benefitted from her boldness. Was this another such
opportunity? If so, she must again act with speed and courage.
She might scream for Karmot, and turn these men over to the King
of Jericho—or trust her unexplainable feeling the God of the
Hebrews was both real and all-powerful. Were the stories she
heard all her life about His parting of the Red Sea actually
true? Whichever way she chose, there was no turning back.
Once she made her decision, calmness fell over Rahab like a warm
cloak. “Yes. We have an agreement. Pour the water from that
large crock on the ground,” she told the men. “It will take both
of you to lift it. Then go quickly up those stairs,” she pointed
to the central staircase. “On the roof you will see many bundles
of drying flax. Hide among them and wait. Show yourselves to no
one until I come to you. Hasten.”
Wow, your mom writes too! Cool. I did locks of love one year, before I got gray.
ReplyDeleteYou're following in your mother's footsteps. I think that's great. What genre does she write in?
ReplyDeleteMom writes extremely spicy romance. She uses a pen name, at my brother's request!
DeleteNice that you can grow hair for Locks of Love. They won't take mine because it's naturally white. I tried. They are deserving. Love Carlene's books.
ReplyDeleteI thought I'd be gray by now, but since that's not the case...
ReplyDeleteCarlene, it's great that your mom is a writer. My mom writes poetry and has since she was in high school. Jacqui, this is such a great feature. I love getting to know everyone.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Vicki, it's fun doing this. So much so, I might even do a post myself :) I appreciate the comments you and others leave on the posts.
ReplyDeleteAwww, you're giving coconut a bad name. Think of all those tropical islands...
ReplyDeleteHow cool that your mom is a writer too--and so prolific. Must be in the genes. :)