Mix twelve cups of grape juice, two cups of flour, two teaspoons of baking powder, and one teaspoon of shortening. (Put the grape juice in last.)
This combination should give you a stiff dough. Soften by adding a little more grape juice, as needed.
Add some sugar or cane syrup to the remaining juice, bring it to a boil, and drop in your dough dumplings.
Fried Florida Gator
You'll need a couple of pounds of alligator meat, cut into small pieces. Sprinkle them with garlic, salt and pepper to taste. In a bowl, mix three eggs and three-fourths cup of mills.
Using about one cup of flour, roll your gator chunks in the flour then drip them in the egg/mills batter.
Deep fry the battered meat at about 325 degrees until golden brown.
The World of A Gentle Rain
Resources For Further Reading
About the Seminole Tribe of Florida:
Here are a couple of interesting websites about Seminole history and culture.
Modern Seminoles speak two languages-both still used today. One is Muscogee, which they share with the Creek Tribe, and the other is Miccosukee. The languages are related and have some similar words. For example, "dog" is "ef-fa" in Muscogee and "ee-fee" in Miccosukee.
Many Florida place names were derived from one of the Seminole languages. A few examples:
Miami - "That place"
Ocala - "Spring"
Palatka - "Ferry crossing"
Homosassa - "Pepper place"
Hialeah - "Prairie"
About the Cracker Horses and Cracker Culture of Florida:
Search the Internet and you'll find lots of references. The Wikipedia online encyclopedia is a great place to start.
The novels and memoirs of Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, including Cross Creek and The Yearling, are a must read! Also take a look at a popular contemporary film about Rawlings' life in Florida, titled Cross Creek, starring Mary Steenburgen. The movie was shot on location in Micanopy, Florida, a great little old-timey town near Gainesville. If you want to step back in time, visit Micanopy. The town was also the setting for a sweet Michael J. Fox movie called Hollywood. Doc
To learn more about Bone Mizell and the world of pioneer Cracker cowboys, there's no better book than Florida Hunter, Cow The Life and Mizell, Bone of Times by Jim Bob Tinsley. It's published by the University of Central Florida Press, in Orlando. The book's cover features the famous Remington picture of Bone Mizell that Ben mentions to Kara.
Deborah Smith
returns to romance with
The Crossroads Cafe
Two damaged people. One special place. Live. Love. Believe.
Heartbroken and cynical, famed actress Cathyrn Deen hides from the world after a horrific accident scars her for life.
Secluded in her grandmother's North Carolina mountain home, Cathyrn at first resists the friendship of the local community and the famous biscuits served up by her loyal cousin, Delta, at The Crossroads Cafe, until a neighbor, former New York architect Thomas Mitternich, reaches out to her.
Thomas lost his wife and son in the World Trade Center. In the years since he's struggled with alcohol and despair. He thinks nothing and no one can make his life worth living again.
Until he meets Cathyrn.
"A plethora of memorable secondary characters add depth, humor, and charm to this heart-wrenching story of two appealing characters who overcome soul-shattering tragedies to find themselves and each other. This beautifully written, emotionally complex story will appeal to fans of both romance and women's fiction."
-Library Journal
"I absolutely loved this book. These characters are wonderful! My favorites have been A Place to Call Home, Sweet Hush, and now, Crossroads Cafe. You have a true heart for people's emotions. I can't wait to recommend this book off our shelves here at the library."
-Kathy Bolton, Librarian, Worthing Libraries, Ohio
Please enjoy an excerpt from
Available February 2008
In 1849, Anne Tracy, a smart and well-educated young woman confined by the proper antebellum society of the South, enters into an arranged marriage with wealthy businessman William Butler Johnston, who is more than twenty years her senior. During their lengthy honeymoon in Europe, Anne and William's awkward, formal relationship quietly begins to blossom. Their enduring marriage will survive tragedy and war to create one of the most amazing legacies in the South.
Sunrise, by acclaimed author and historical researcher, Jacquelyn Cook, is based on the true story behind the incredible Johnston-Felton-Hay House in Macon, Georgia. Written in the inspired tradition of famed Southern authors such as Eugenia Price, this historically accurate, detail-rich novel will delight fans of classic historical fiction. Available in February 2008 from BelleBooks, in trade paperback.
Anne sat on the deck of a steamboat floating down the Rhone. In a mood as bleak as the January day, she eyed hillsides brown with barren vineyards, thinking, My hopes for romance are as dead as this wine country. I thought being married to someone I did not love was bad. This is worse. I never knew love could be so painful when it's not returned.
Since they left Paris, Mr. J. had ignored her, sleeping through the train ride to Chalons. Now he was dozing in a deck chair. She supposed she had worn him out with her boundless energy, trying to see all of Paris. She tried to read, but her nerves felt as rough and knobby as the grape vines.
When the indifferent looking little riverboat began passing between hills studded with chateaux and fairy tale villages, she wanted him all the more.
Wake up! Please. She watched him, longing to kiss him, to be caressed, thinking of Byron's line:
Man's love is of man's life a thing apart;
Tis woman's whole existence.
Anne suddenly understood the poet's words. That moment in Paris had changed her from adolescent liking to deep loving. She wanted to breathe in his presence for the rest of her days. She yearned to be loved, not just as a wife to show off in fine gowns or as a traveling companion who could enlighten him on what they were seeing, but desired. Like Eugenie.
How can I expect a pragmatic man to respond to my passion for art, for beauty--- for him?
He stirred under her gaze, and she said, "You're missing everything. That's not a cloud. It's a snow-topped crest. It must be Mt. Blanc."
"Urn-huh," he mumbled.
Mr. J. leaned closer to follow her pointing finger, and the soft fuzziness of his beard tickled her cheek. Anne smiled. Had she ever been this aware of all her senses?
As the boat neared Lyons, Anne shook him to see the rough, gray rocks rising round, forcing themselves into the city, jutting into the gardens that landscaped handsome homes. She pronounced Lyons a singular mixture of nature and art.
That night Anne slept well in the hotel at Lyons and arose eager to continue the journey. Floating down the river caused her no motion sickness, and she felt herself exploding with health.
For the next two days, they lazed on deck. With Mr. J. taking more interest in her, Anne reveled in the view, walled castles, crowning ever more rugged hills that climbed to the distance snow-topped Alps, shining blue and clear in the sun.
When they stopped at Avignon to tour the famous Palace of the Popes, Anne came alive with energy, and Mr. J. rested, caught her zest. Walking, climbing, they missed nothing.
How did I ever win this lovely creature? William wondered as he watched Anne fairly dancing, stretching her arms up to the sun, exclaiming over the deep blue Mediterranean. They had reached the seaport of Marseilles.
"Oh, the southern air," Anne cried. "It's balmy even though it's the last day of January!"
William was thrilled that Anne actually took his hand as they strolled narrow streets. Suddenly, she stopped before an inn of crumbly-looking stone.
"This is the most romantic spot I've ever seen," she exclaimed, tugging him into the courtyard. "Just look how it's guarded by slender sentries of cypress and secluded by burgeoning vines. Oh, we must
eat here," she begged.
Something was happening. William knew he must seize the moment, but his knees were failing him, and he thankfully sank into a chair. He gazed across the table at her, unable to speak. He had dreamed that if he took her to places such as this, she might come to love him.
Maybe not. Perhaps it was only Paris that changed her. But at least she doesn't pull away anymore when I try to touch her. She doesn't shutter her eyes to me. Now is the time to woo her, to tell her how much I love her.
But William drew up, tight, tense, throat constricted. He could feel his cheeks burning as red as the tiles of the roof. Somehow he managed to toast her with the local wine, sparkling St. Peray. Laughing, Anne agreed that the sea air heightened her appetite. They ordered fish cooked with olive oil.
"Delicious," Anne declared, rolling the light taste on her tongue. "The flavor is like the pecans back home."
Fear flashed through William She might become homesick again. But he sat back as the waiters returned with violins. Smiling knowingly, they circled them, playing throbbing melodies, singing passionate songs. Now. This is the time. Speak now, William, he chided himself.
Anne was smiling up at him with her brown eyes soft. Loving? It seemed their whole relationship hung quivering like the bougainvillea that encircled them in a blaze of pink that would fade, die, and drop away. He pushed back his plate, covered her hand with his, and coughed--- Then he ducked his chin into his beard.
Miserable, William thought how he could address a boardroom full of formidable men in New York City. Why not one slender girl who is my wife? But he remembered their wedding, the look on her face.
All he could say was, "I must make arrangements for the diligence for Nice." She did not love him. Could he bear to keep trying? He stammered, "If-if you'd like to wait here... listen to the violins-We'll walk down to the sea when I get back."
Anne nodded. She had a dreamy look about her as if she were lost in the music. He knew she understood none of his discomfort.
When William returned, he presented a nosegay of violets and geraniums. He had never seen Anne more delighted. She smiled up at him, touching the bouquet tenderly to her face.
With a lump in his throat, he pulled back her chair and offered his arm. For whatever reason she married a forty-year-old man, it was not for money, he thought. My smallest gifts please her most.
Anne placed the flowers in the tiny vase of the tussie mussie on her lapel and sniffed it as they strolled along the harbor looking at the vessels. "It's so relaxing here by the rushing, sighing waves."
William put his arm around her, and he was transported when she snuggled sleepily into the hollow of his shoulder. They stopped, watching the stars come out, and he stammered of their beauty. But he could not find the words to tell her of his love.
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Table of Contents
Prologue
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Part Two
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Part Three
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Part Four
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
A Gentle Rain Page 38