Guest Post: THOUGH THE MOUNTAINS BE SHAKEN by Kathleen Neely

My guest today is Kathleen Neely, a retired elementary principal. She enjoys time with family, visiting her two grandsons, traveling, and reading. She is the author of The Street Singer, Beauty for Ashes, The Least of These, Arms of Freedom, and In Search of True North. Kathleen won second place in a short story contest through ACFW-VA for her short story “The Missing Piece” and an honorable mention for her story “The Dance”. Both were published in a Christmas anthology. Her novel, The Least of These, was awarded first place in the 2015 Fresh Voices contest through Almost an Author. She has numerous devotions published through Christian Devotions.  

Kathleen continues to speak to students about writing and publication processes. She is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers. 

Her latest book, Though the Mountains be Shaken, is one she wanted to write for some time. The heroine begins to have symptoms of Parkinson's Disease. Kathleen also lives with this neurological disorder. The heroine experiences symptoms similar to the ones Kathleen had, which progress quickly. Kathleen wants to bring awareness of this very prevalent disease by weaving it into a story that she thought readers would enjoy.  

 Her challenge as a writer was to achieve a satisfying ending without diminishing the seriousness of the disease. She believes she accomplished that. She also desired to show that God’s grace is present in our afflictions.  He said, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” 2 Cor. 12:9

 

Now for the blurb! 

 

Kate Dunbar puts 100% into everything she does—a career as a literary agent, a mom of preschool twins, and the wife of Ryan Dunbar, a criminal defense attorney. She appears to have the perfect life, until it begins to crumble piece by piece—her marriage, her health, and her job. 

 

Kate blames emotional stress for her fatigue, stiffness, and tremors. As symptoms begin to increase, Kate finds herself unable to control her body’s erratic movements. At the same time that she and Ryan separate, she receives a diagnosis of Parkinson’s. Determined not to tell her estranged husband of her diagnosis, Kate faces an unknown future and the possibility that she’ll face it as a single mother. 

 

As glimmers of hope for a restored marriage begin to surface, more upheavals await them. A case that Ryan is defending endangers his family and his career. 

 

Kate and Ryan both harbor secrets that threaten their marriage. Can they mend their broken family? How will Parkinson’s affect their future? For better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others. Every vow they spoke eight years ago is being tested. Can they survive the storm? 

 

 

Read an excerpt!

 

Silence swelled as they stared at each other. Should she start this conversation? Kate decided to wait it out. Instead of beginning his explanation, he cast a questioning look toward her hands, resting on the table. “What’s wrong with your wrist?” 

Confusion filled her. “Nothing. Why?” She glanced down to see her left hand firmly grasping her right wrist. 

“You’ve been holding it. I thought maybe you hurt it.”

“No. It’s fine.” She shrugged it off but realized she had unconsciously stilled the shaking. She released it and tucked the tremoring hand in her lap. 

It was way past time for this conversation. “Why, Ryan?” 

His eyes filled with sadness. A look of regret. “You’re not the same person I married.”

Irritation sprang up from her belly, but she tried to press it back down. “No one is. People change. They grow.” Another long pause. “How have I changed?” 

“You’re driven. You’re a perfectionist.”

Kate tried a little smile. “When did that become a bad thing?”

He straightened from his slouched position. “When no one’s good enough. When most of your words are critical.”

Her propensity to return a sharp reply hadn’t changed. She swallowed back the retort that almost spilled from her lips, forcing Kate to see the truth of his words. The fight in her wilted. “I never intended to be critical. Couldn’t you have told me?”

A sarcastic humph left his lips. “You’re not easy to tell.” Ryan leaned back, arms locked behind his neck, his long legs stretched out before him. “I’m tired of having no say. You should have been an attorney. You win every case.” 

With much restraint, Kate managed to keep her tone soft. “That’s not fair. We always talk through decisions.” 

Ryan nodded his agreement. “Yes. You talk and talk and talk, until it goes your way. Until you wear me down.” 

Kate wanted to counter that remark, but then she’d be validating his accusation. She remained silent. Did he want her to apologize for having opinions?

When she offered no response, Ryan continued. “I remember when you were proud of me. When I finished law school. When I passed the bar. When the firm hired me. All the times we celebrated.”

They had celebrated. When the scores came in and they knew he’d passed, she had jumped into his arms, and he twirled her in a circle. Giddy with excitement, they called their parents to share the news, then went into the city for dinner. A few weeks later, Ross and Roberts hired him, a prestigious law firm for a rookie lawyer. 

“I’m still proud of you.”

His eyes hardened. “No, Kathryn. You show disdain for everything I do.”

She sprang forward on her chair. “Ryan, that’s not true.”

“It’s very true. I can’t do anything right at home, and you ridicule my work.” 

She answered with a tip of her chin. “I think you’re being a little oversensitive here.”

“Of course, you do. Because you can’t imagine that the problem may be with you.” 

Hurt fueled her response. “You’re painting this one-sided.”

“It’s not. I know I have faults.” A smirk formed. “You’re not reluctant to point them out.” 

Kate sat back with the bitter taste of truth in her mouth. How had she become so carping? “I’m so sorry, Ryan. That’s not the way I want to be. I love you. You know that, don’t you?”

A prolonged pause preceded his answer. “No, I haven’t known that for quite some time.” His voice heavy with the admission. 

Did he really feel unloved? One look around their home showed the busy schedules, the undone tasks, the children’s needs. Did he expect her to stoke his ego as well? Then she recalled the times she squirmed away from his embrace, too busy or too distracted. 

Kate lowered her eyes as the length of silence grew. Her thoughts tumbled together. She wasn’t accustomed to being out of control. Kate reached deep and began what came natural to her—problem solving. “Okay. So how do we fix this? I can’t see how living apart will help.”

Ryan’s eyes weren’t meeting hers. Fear stole her brief moment of control. 

“Ryan? You do want to fix this, don’t you?” 

The pause stretched on. “I don’t know, Kate. All I know is that I need some time.” 

 His words gave birth to her panic, sending the hand in her lap into frenzied motion. “Ryan, look at me.” He raised his eyes to hers. “Do you still love me?” Her head tilted into the question. 

He lowered his eyes again, before looking back at her. “I don’t know, Kate.”

This couldn’t be happening. Kate leaned forward and, despite her shaking, reached for his hands that rested on the table. She grasped both of them in hers. “How can you not know? It was only a few days before I left for the conference that we made love.”

He shook his head. “A carnal need, Kate. We used to make love. It’s been a long time since I’d call it that.”

She pulled her hands back abruptly. A carnal need? The words crashed into her like an angry fist. She stumbled as she rose from the chair, carrying the last frayed edges of her dignity. Ryan’s muted voice called to her from a vacuum, but the words were indecipherable—the moment in slow motion. Somehow, she made it to her car and her car made it home. 

The conversation replayed over and over in Kate’s head. Each word. Each expression. Her husband no longer loved her. He didn’t want the marriage to be fixed. It was over. Irreparable. Every muscle in her body ached with stiffness. Every motion came in slow, bumbling moves. She reached for the ibuprofen but struggled with the cap. When she finally managed to open it, her hand lost its grip. The open medicine container fell, scattering pills on the tiled bathroom floor. As she proceeded to pick up each pink tablet, she collapsed to her knees, then sat on the tiled floor drawing her knees to her chest. Deep sobs wracked her body. 

 

~~*~~

 

You can purchase your copy at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09TQ1H8YH/

 

 

Website – www.KathleenNeely.com 

Facebook – www.facebook.com/kathy.neely.98

Twitter - https://twitter.com/NeelyKneely3628

Instagram – www.Instagram.com/KathleenNeelyAuthor

Goodreads - https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14602744.Kathleen_Neely

BookBub -- https://www.bookbub.com/profile/kathleen-neely

 

 

 

 

 

 

Guest Post: ARMS OF FREEDOM by Kathleen Neely

 

My guest today is Kathleen Neely, a retired elementary principal who enjoys time with family, visiting her two grandsons, traveling, and reading. 

She is the author of The Street Singer, Beauty for Ashes, The Least of These, Arms of Freedom, and In Search of True North. Kathleen won second place in a short story contest through ACFW-VA for her short story “The Missing Piece” and an honorable mention for her story “The Dance”. Both were published in a Christmas anthology. Her novel, The Least of These, was awarded first place in the 2015 Fresh Voices contest through Almost an Author. She has numerous devotions published through Christian Devotions. 

 

Kathleen continues to speak to students about writing and publication processes. She is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers. 

 

Kathleen's latest release is ARMS OF FREEDOM. 

With each page of the age-old journals, Annie discovers all that unites her with a woman who once lived in her farmhouse. One lived with wealth and one with poverty, but both knew captivity. Both longed to be free.  

Miriam yearns to escape her life as a super model. She drops the pseudonym and uses the name she gave up years ago—Annie Gentry. Then she alters her appearance and moves to rural South Carolina to care for her grandmother. Can she live a simple life without recognition? Can she hide a net worth valued in the millions? Love is nowhere in her plans until she meets a man who wants nothing more than Annie Gentry and the simple life he lives. 

Charlotte lived in the same farmhouse in the tumultuous 1860’s. The Civil War was over, but for a bi-racial girl, freedom remained elusive. She coveted a life where she wouldn’t bring shame to her family. A life where she could make a difference. As she experiences hope, will it be wrested from her? 

The journals stop abruptly with a climactic event, leaving Annie to search for information. What happened to Charlotte? Did her life make a difference?  Did she ever find freedom? 

Intrigued? Read an excerpt to find out more.

The key turned in the lock, but the attic door still required a strong arm to open it. Years of dried paint scraped the door jamb. The bottom rebelled against the threshold, clearly in need of a carpenter to sand it down or re-align it. She propped it open, hit the light switch and immediately met years of stagnant air. A musty smell caught in her throat activating a gag reflex. She coughed, then hoisted the cardboard boxes to shield her nose and mouth. As the still air began to dance in its new freedom, the disturbed dust mites floated in dull light beams. She’d have to deal with this sometime. She’d take the boxes and drop them upstairs. The attic needed a good airing out before she could look around. With the boxes held high in her arms, Annie climbed the steep wooden stairs. 

The dim light cast shadows, enough to know that the room wasn’t empty. Annie plopped the boxes down and felt along the wall for another light. Instead, she found a string dangling from a single bulb mounted on the ceiling. She tugged the string and the room came to life revealing a lightly-cluttered attic. Sheets covered surfaces in their attempt to protect them from years of dust. Her initial inclination was to leave this for another day. Or another year. Low priority with all she had to do. 

Yet something compelled her to stay. A few boxes and a storage chest. You would expect those in an attic. But a large section of the room held an air of familiarity. Children’s furniture had been stacked against one wall. A wooden table, four chairs, two turned upside down to nest on the other two, and a bookshelf. A carpet, about six-foot square, spread out on the floor in front of the furniture. Why was everything so familiar? She had only visited here twice when she was around five years old. And she was certain she’d never been in the attic. Eleanor would not have allowed it. 

Annie opened an old chest that sat on the carpet. She lifted the dusty lid and saw the toys, mostly wood and metal. A toy tea set, a sorry looking stuffed teddy bear, and wooden building blocks with faded alphabet letters. A smaller chest sat beside it. She picked up a yo-yo, the string discolored and stiff, marbles in a cardboard box, a metal spinning top, void of color. These were definitely old, perhaps antiques. She lowered the lid, puzzling over this discovery. Another box held two items, both wrapped in cloth. She lifted one and removed the flannel to discover a baby doll. An image formed in her mind. She had seen this doll. She was certain of it. She could see a vision of the doll sitting on one of the wooden chairs. She knew she’d find another when she unwrapped the other flannel—one with red, curly hair. 

As she unpacked the second doll, it all came back to her. A picture. She’d seen the items in a painting at Nana’s home, the home she had in Pittsburgh before she moved to Roswell House Assisted Living. The painting mirrored Andrew Wyeth’s style of down-home realism with rustic details. The table and chairs on the same carpet where Annie stood today, the tea set in the center, and two dolls seated with teacups before them. The gritty window in the background of the picture with its yellow-gold curtains matched the window a few feet away. The gold had faded to a drab shade and held years of dust, but it was the same curtain. The same window. That meant a child’s play area had been in this attic. Why would anyone set up a playroom in an attic? Or perhaps this space served as an artist studio, the dolls and tea set staged for a picture. But another thought marched to her brain. Her grandmother’s words. Those walls hold secrets.

 

 You can find Kathleen at:

 

Website – www.KathleenNeely.com 

Facebook – www.facebook.com/kathy.neely.98

Twitter - https://twitter.com/NeelyKneely3628

Instagram – www.Instagram.com/KathleenNeelyAuthor 

You can find ARMS OF FREEDOM at:

https://www.amazon.com/Arms-Freedom-Kathleen-Neely-ebook/dp/B09FKKTWCX