Chasing pearl, p.1
Chasing Pearl, page 1
Chasing Pearl, a Novella
Book 8 of the Jewel Series
Written by
Published by
Olivia Kimbrell Press™
COPYRIGHT NOTICE
Chasing Pearl, a Novella; Inspired by the Jewel Series
First edition. Copyright © 2018 by Hallee Bridgeman. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or recording – without express written permission of the author. The only exception is brief quotations in printed or broadcasted critical articles and reviews. Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, places, locales or to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or publisher. The characters are productions of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.
PUBLISHED BY: Olivia Kimbrell Press™*, P.O. Box 470, Fort Knox, KY 40121-0470
The Olivia Kimbrell Press™ colophon and open book logo are trademarks of Olivia Kimbrell Press™.
*Olivia Kimbrell Press™ is a publisher offering true to life, meaningful fiction from a Christian worldview intended to uplift the heart and engage the mind.
Some scripture quotations courtesy of the King James Version of the Holy Bible.
Some scripture quotations courtesy of the New King James Version of the Holy Bible, Copyright © 1979, 1980, 1982 by Thomas-Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Original Cover Art by Amanda Smith
Library Cataloging Data
Names: Bridgeman, Hallee (Hallee Bridgeman) 1972-
Title: Chasing Pearl; The Jewel Series Book 8 / Hallee Bridgeman
190 p. 5 in. × 8 in. (12.70 cm × 20.32 cm)
Description: Olivia Kimbrell Press™ digital eBook edition | Olivia Kimbrell Press™ Trade paperback edition | Kentucky: Olivia Kimbrell Press™, 2018.
Summary: A package lost in the mail since 1940 brings a modern couple together in a miraculous way. Identifiers: ePCN: 2018909035 | ISBN-13: 978-1-68190-126-8 (ebk.) | 978-1-68190-127-5 (POD) | 978-1-68190-128-2 (trade) | 978-1-68190-129-9 (hardcover)
1. clean romance love story 2. women's inspirational 3. man woman relationships 4. Christian living 5. military lifestyle 6. Texas A&M alumni 7. Veteran WWII Patriotism
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chasing Pearl, a Novella Copyright Notice
Dedication
The Jewel Series
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
Translation Key
READER’S GUIDE Discussion Questions
Menu Recipes CORNED BEEF HASH
CREPES WITH FRESH BERRY SAUCE
FRESH TOMATO JUICE
A Personal Note from Hallee Bridgeman
The Jewel Series
More Great Books by Hallee Bridgeman
The Dixon Brothers Series
Excerpt Courting Calla
About Author Hallee Bridgeman
Hallee Online
Newsletter
DEDICATION
This Book Is Lovingly Dedicated…
To the brave Americans who lost their lives in the unprovoked attack by the Empire of Japan on Pearl Harbor on Sunday morning, December 7, 1941, and to their families for every generation since.
Your sacrifice will never be forgotten.
Proud sponsor of the US Olympic Team
THE JEWEL SERIES
The Jewel Series
by Hallee Bridgeman
Book 1: Sapphire Ice (FREE wherever ebooks are sold!)
Book 2: Greater Than Rubies
Book 3: Emerald Fire
Book 4: Topaz Heat
Book 5: Christmas Diamond (A FREE gift to Hallee's readers!)
Book 6: Christmas Star Sapphire
Book 7: Jade's Match
Book 8: Chasing Pearl
Available in eBook and paperback wherever fine books are sold.
CHAPTER 1
An icy wind blew right under Mandalynn Clementine’s skirt, making her shiver and wish she’d worn wool stockings. She held her hat on her head and ducked into the alley, finally getting some relief from the wind. She clutched her purse closer to her body as her boot heels clicked on the wet pavement. Nervously glancing over her shoulder, she walked further into the alley, moonlight providing the only light. She couldn’t even see the edges of light around the blackout curtains in the windows above her.
She heard the noise again. It sounded like a strange buzzing sound. Hitler had used buzz-bombs against London. Could New York City have finally come under attack? Four long years of war and drills kept Mandalynn on her toes and her ears perked up. No air raid sirens. The sound faded. She looked behind her again but kept going forward. Finally, she saw the chalk outline of the murder victim.
“There you are,” she said, stopping with her toes just on the edge of the chalk. A large blood stain ruined the symmetry of the outline. “So, your killer was right-handed. I guess that narrows it down a little bit.”
In her mind’s eye, the chalk blurred and a young sailor in dress blues lay before her, a stab wound in his left side.
“What were you doing in this alley, sailor? Some kind of rhubarb, or chasing a dame?” The buzzing behind her came back, much louder. She ignored it. “Was your killer an anchor clanker, too? What about you? Were you a swigger or did you snap someone’s cap?”
Suddenly, the buzzing sound overwhelmed her. Startled, she looked up, her eyes wide with terror. “It can’t be! Not now!”
The shrieking of the alarm pulled Violet Pearl out of 1944 New York City and planted her square back into modern day, College Station, Texas. Annoyed, she swiped at her phone to turn it off. 5:45 AM. She didn’t even have time to pretend to keep going.
“Fine!” Violet’s East Texas inflection made the soft one-syllable proclamation span the length of nearly an entire second.
Pushing away from her desk, she rolled her head on her neck and blinked, not surprised to feel the dryness of her eyes. She’d started writing last night at eleven and intended to just write for an hour. She’d kept going, though. Eleven turned into two, and two to five-thirty before she even realized the time had gone by.
She reached over and flicked off the old big-band music playing on her satellite radio and raised her arms above her head, yawning. As she mentally thumbed through the coming day’s events, she identified three open hours when she could nap. Nodding to herself, she pulled her nightshirt over her head and slipped into a pair of denim shorts and a T-shirt bearing the logo of The Texas Pearl, her family’s inn. She took a moment to go into the bathroom and splash cool water onto her face, then looked in the mirror. With the right color on, her eyes looked nearly as violet as her name.
This morning, red cracks covered the whites of her tired blue eyes. She opened the medicine cabinet and found a bottle of eye drops, gasping when the cold drop hit her right eye. Blinking both eyes against the cool liquid, she felt more refreshed already. Violet knew she couldn’t fool Grandma Vi with eye drops and a face splashed with cold water, but Gran had long since given up on trying to make her keep regular hours.
Violet left her room and stepped into the dark, quiet living quarters in the basement of the inn. She could see a light on under her sister, Scarlett’s, door but didn’t disturb her. Instead, she went upstairs. In the front room of the inn, she turned on a couple of lamps and walked across the gleaming hardwood floors. She slid open the dining room door, slipped into the room, and shut the door behind her. If she left it open, the early rising guests would come on in, and they still had a lot of set up to do before opening the room.
Going through the kitchen door, Violet flicked on the kitchen lights and went straight for the coffee machine in the corner. She’d preloaded it before going downstairs last night, so all she had to do was press a button, and the sound of the coffee grinder filled the room. Knowing it would spit the ground coffee into the basket and begin brewing without her assistance, she looked at the whiteboard to see what her sister had written down for the breakfast menu. Biscuits, scrambled eggs, turkey sausage, corned beef hash, crepes with fresh fruit, oatmeal. Nodding, she went over each item and mentally arranged the order of preparation. After washing her hands, she went into the supply room and reached up on the top shelf for the big silver bowl.
Her grandmother had to go up two steps on the step ladder to reach that shelf. Violet had long given up hope that she’d somehow lose six inches off of her five-ten height and become beautiful and petite like the other women in her family. Instead, she got to be taller than even the men in her family.
She loaded the bowl with palm shortening, a pre-measured bag of flour freshly ground with their own grain mill, salt, baking soda, and baking powder. When she walked back into the kitchen, she found Scarlett at the sink. Even though they were sisters, they looked nothing alike. While Violet had straight reddish-brown hair, Scarlett had thick wavy red hair with green eyes that shown from her face. She also stood about five inches shorter than her sister.
“Hey there, Scarlett,” Violet greeted, stopping at the refr
“Morning,” Scarlett replied. “Gran wanted crepes this morning.”
While one might consider Violet’s Texas drawl to sound thick and sweet, like syrup, Scarlett’s sounded thick like frozen molasses on the coldest day of winter at the bottom of a frozen lake. Scarlett stood on her toes to reach above her and pull the large silver pot off of the chain to start making the oatmeal.
“So I have been reliably informed.”
“Saw your room light on when I went to bed. How late did you work last night?” Violet shrugged and cut the butter into the flour mixture. “All night, huh? Gonna be a long day with you all catawampus. We have guests going and coming.”
“I know. Don’t squat on your spurs. I have a three-hour window I can use to catch some shuteye.” She used her hands to mix in the buttermilk until the dough was the perfect consistency. While she worked, she made a mental note of what she needed to accomplish today. The Texas Pearl Inn was currently full of guests and would stay booked to almost full occupancy through the end of summer. That made for long days. Not that Violet minded hard work or long days. She’d grown up here and loved this inn as much as the rest of her family did.
For the last five years, she and Scarlett had gradually taken on more and more responsibilities, allowing their grandmother to let more go. They started making breakfast at six every morning, did most of the housekeeping during the day, and kept up the tradition of offering a soup and homemade bread station to the guests in the evenings.
Today, after breakfast cleanup, she needed to see about getting the old Weedeater fixed. She also needed to make delivery arrangements with the two organic farms that handled their summer produce needs. Scarlett, who had graduated from culinary school in San Antonio and ran a catering company out of the inn’s kitchen, had a wedding on the books next month. Violet needed to ensure they could handle the catering order. Otherwise, they’d need to find another supplier to help supplement.
With the biscuits in the oven and some corned beef hash sizzling under a broiler, she took a sip of cooling coffee then started slicing melon, pausing when the kitchen door opened. Grandma Vi walked in, pulling an apron over her white head.
“How’s my girls?” she asked, heading straight for the sink to wash her hands.
“Hey, there, Gran,” Violet greeted.
“Morning, Gran,” Scarlett said from the sink. She had a colander full of strawberries and blueberries. “I’m making a mixed berry syrup for your crepes.”
“Those berries are so good this year. Them blueberries is big as bull’s eyes. That’s going to taste sweeter than stolen honey.” Grandma Vi disappeared into the supply room and returned carrying a large silver bowl, a metal whisk, and a pre-measured bag of flour and leavening. “Jacob told me Wilma’s looking to scare up a little bit of pin money now that the baby’s cutting teeth.” Jacob was Grandma Vi’s nephew, making Wilma their second or third cousin. Violet never could keep up with the sprawling family in their corner of Texas. Grandma Vi paused at the refrigerator and pulled out a flat of eggs and some whole milk, using the bowl to carry them.
Scarlett nodded. “Yes, ma’am. She stopped by yesterday evening. Told me the baby’s teething and keeping her up all hours. I gave her a finger of fresh ginger and told her to try it.”
“Ginger always worked with you girls. Your mama swore by it.”
Violet laughed. “Because her mother-in-law did!”
“Yes, I did on account of it works,” Grandma Vi agreed. “Anyway, have her come over and grind some flour and measure it out for us for the next couple of weeks. We can store it in the freezer to keep the flour fresh. Cornmeal, too, come to think of it. That idea of yours sure has saved time in the mornings. I don’t know how we’ve run this place for eighty years before you two started coming up with ideas. I swear, you’re both just as bright as new pennies.”
Violet felt her shoulders straighten with a little bit of pride. “Thank you, Gran.”
“Nothin’ but the truth. You’re both like hooty owls,” She dumped the flour into the bowl. “When she finishes that, if the baby is still cooperating, she can do the deep cleaning of the rooms that are emptying today. I think eight and eleven are due.”
“Yes, ma’am. Eight and eleven,” Scarlett confirmed.
Violet felt relieved that Wilma could handle the deep cleaning. Maybe she could stretch that three-hour nap into four. She wiped her hands on a towel and pulled her phone out of her back pocket, taking a moment to shoot Wilma a quick text. “That’s perfect,” she said, picking the knife back up. “I needed some help today. Scarlett has to do a lunch catering order, so we were a hand or two short.”
“Who needs catering today, Chef Scarlett?” Grandma Vi asked.
“Gardening Club luncheon. Just fifteen. I’m keeping it simple.” Scarlett added honey to the freshly washed berries and tossed a cinnamon stick into the pot. “I’m delivering it to them at eleven-thirty.”
The women worked in silence for a while. Violet let her mind wander back to that icy alley and the dead sailor. What clues did she plan to leave for the reader in the alley? Of course, she knew how the story ended, but she enjoyed giving her readers just enough information to make them feel like they could have solved it, too.
The timer went off, bringing her back into the kitchen and reminding her that she had biscuits in the oven. As Violet took the biscuits out of the oven, Scarlett said, “Jacob called and asked me to hold a room. We’ll be hosting the guest coach for the football summer camp that starts up right after the Fourth. I went ahead and booked room six starting next Sunday through the end of the summer. Not positive how long it’s needed for, but I know the camp is at least two months.”
“Six is about as big as the little end of nothing,” Violet observed.
“It’ll just be the one cowpoke. Frees up the larger rooms for the couples and families on the books.”
Violet checked the oatmeal and lowered the temperature on her way to the storage room, where she grabbed a silver bowl and a whisk. Coming back in the kitchen, she stopped at the refrigerator and took out another dozen eggs.
“I remember not so long ago,” Grandma Vi said, walking over to the stove and reaching above her head to pull two crepe pans off of the rack, “the only time we were full was when something big was happening at the school.” Grandma always called Texas A&M “the school,” ever since Violet could remember. “Now it’s all the time. Good to see full books.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Violet glanced at the clock on the wall. They had about thirty minutes before service. She needed to get eggs cracked.
Uncle Drew pushed through the kitchen door, carrying the coffee pots from the commercial coffee maker in the dining room. He had bushy black and silver hair that he could barely tame on a good day, and today stood out everywhere, making him look like a slightly crazy professor. He headed for the sink but stopped at Vi’s elbow and quickly kissed her cheek. “Hey, there, mama. Good morning.”
“Mornin’, son.” She gestured with her chin while she expertly flicked her wrist, causing the crepe to fly up in the air, flip mid-air, and land perfectly back on the pan. “If you need more coffee, I picked some up yesterday.”
“Should be okay this morning. I reckon there’s enough to make it strong.”
Scarlett nodded. “So strong it’ll walk into your cup.”
Drew looked at the whiteboard while he filled the carafes. “You don’t want any grapefruit juice set out?”
Scarlett shook her head. “Tomato. Clive delivered double my tomato order, so I made some juice yesterday.”
Violet whisked the eggs and glanced at the clock again. Everything felt on target for breakfast service. Unwillingly, her mind drifted back to New York City and the chalk outline of a sailor.
