Guide In My Little Town - Christmas in Deliverance (Christmas Stories by Jean-Michel Hansen Book 1)

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Shivering, Deliverance reached for her cap, but it flew on the brisk air like a white bird, gliding past the grasping trees on Gallows Hill. Who would be next? Deliver me from evil.

As well as the first one in June. A tavern owner who had worn scarlet and lace and failed to attend Meeting. Goody Bishop had recited the Scripture properly and had nursed the sick during the smallpox, but none of that had counted. Deliverance shook her head to rid the ugliness and breathed deep. Her feet hardly touched the ground. It was dark there, and she could hide for a while. With a grateful smile, she found a handful of feverfew waiting to be picked. Her excursion would be better explained.

All of a sudden, both her footfall and her heart seemed lighter. The sweet sound of music rested on the air. Other than the Psalter during worship meeting, music was considered frivolous. Maybe she was evil inside. She ran straight toward the sound just as a dark figure slipped into the trees. Without a thought, she followed—nay, she floated, not caring he might be the Dark One who lay in wait for the unwary along dim waysides. This sweet angelic sound cannot be evil, she told herself.

The musician does not mean me harm! The devil is never more real than when he seems an angel of light. Pausing nervously, she looked through the swamp maples and the fiddlehead ferns. Maybe demons did lurk behind the tree trunks. Almost without her approval, her feet began to plod slowly forward through the gloom. What if the Dark One himself stood ahead, waiting for her to sign his book?

What if he took the shape of someone she knew so that she would trust him? The forest around her seemed endless and soon became swamp. Twilight swirled about her in a mist she could feel. Maybe the Prince of the Air did live here, inviting his followers to unholy sacraments.

young alaskans in the far north Manual

Luring them to mountaintops to own all they could see if they followed him. She did not know. Although she was afraid, she moved through the dank air, almost unable stop on her own feet. The clearing ahead of her was one that she did not remember in spite of all her herb-hunts in these dark woods. Even in the dusk, the clearing was full of sunshine as if the treetops had a hole in them. The big granite boulders in the center of the halo of light were covered in moss and fern.

A young man leaned up against the rocks, his profile to her. His long, white hands held to his mouth a fife of some sort. The notes he played invited her slowly toward him. She could not take her eyes from him, yet she did not trip or stumble through the roots. Her feet did not seem to touch the ground.

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Her long wool skirts did not catch in the muck. He wore a dark blue shirt, black trousers, a cloak that hung back over his shoulders, and tall leather boots. One foot stood firm in the muddy layers of decaying leaves; the other was propped against a small rock. His hair, dark as midnight, swung like a cape over his shoulders and hung to his elbows.

While she approached, her heart pounded with the strangeness of the scene. He turned and stopped playing. His long hair covered the right side of his face, dividing it straight down the middle. He did not brush it away. Only his left eye showed; it watched her kindly, with gentle mystery, but he did not speak. Still he said nothing, and she gave in to the temptation to hear the music. It is so lovely.

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I mean not to pry. As he hesitated, she felt relief. He was correct to stop. She was listening to forbidden music in a time of fear and death. She was in a place she had not known to exist before this minute. All of this was either a miracle or a spell.

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She prayed for a miracle, for a spell would bring death. His voice was low with an unfamiliar burr. The half-mouth was well-shaped and rosy, the slender half of nose handsomely carved. He placed the instrument to his mouth once again and started a lilting tune. She could see that he held some sort of flute, handmade from a reed.

Christmas Stories: Part II - The Story of a Humble Little Town

Suddenly the dangerous sounds hammered into her. It is not wise. Someone might hear. These are strange days. Goodman Crowninshield is a fine man, but there are so many others As he turned away, the long curtain of hair lifted like a bat stretching its wing. She saw the rest of his face, and gasped out loud. The left side of his face was as perfect as that of the alabaster saints the reverend railed against. The gray eye watched her with much interest. The right side was a twisted web of tortured flesh with a cold, dark hole that had once been an eye. Was he a demon after all?

Was this good and evil combined? Her breath came out in loud heaves that she could see in the air. How could she not? What if he was a spirit or a wizard? The prophet Isaiah clearly admonished against such a thing. But her left hand seemed to have a mind of its own. It reached for him. She placed it gently over what had once been a face almost as if she had done so many times before. Then he took her hand and placed his lips at her wrist.

Her pulse jumped with life against his mouth, but she found a lump of fear in her throat as she tried to swallow. Startled, she looked at him one last time. He pointed to the eyeless hole. I see most everything. Maybe you are both. Or maybe I am yours.

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His deliverance? Her skin crawled, for he had spoken her name. At her feet lay the little flute. She grabbed it.

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However, it drew me in like a vortex in the ocean, drawing me deeper and deeper into the spiral of the story until there was no escape and the story and I were one. Delli travels between her world of snobbish California prep school and the Salem witch trials via dreams. She and her friends are the main characters, good and bad.

Realizing history first-hand gives Delli a different perspective on both historic events and those happening around her in modern times. Delli begins to realize that people can greatly influence others' lives in Salem, causing physical death by gossip and lies. In the modern world, those lies might not cause physical death, but they cause great emotional harm to those being so bullied.

Ever so slowly, Delli also comes to see the importance of herself and others standing up against the whispers and lies of others. This story is appropriate for young adults and o. Seeing the truth beyond the surface: What a riveting story, right from the start! The story throws you right in the midst of the turmoil in Salem, Massachusetts during the famous witch trials. But, the author does a fantastic job bringing the reader back and forth between that time and a present time when prejudice and greed influence another time and place.

The story shows us how human nature can so easily get caught up in rumors and speculation and twist the truth into something cruel and totally false. The main character, a young teen, struggles with holding on to her faith and beliefs while being pulled so strongly into the warped views of her circle of friends. This is a story of learning to stand for what you believe and learning to see beyond what the public or media want you to see. It is fast paced and kept me turning pages long into the night. It was especially fun to read it in October :. Adobe PDF. Qty :. Description God will give you blood to drink.

Excerpt 1 God will give you blood to drink. Customers also purchased. Quick View. Kylie's Kiss. Fire Dragon's Angel. Forget me Not. Rodeo Rescue. Historical Fiction. Young Adult. Holiday Themed. Christian Gothic. Contemporary Romance. Historical Romance. Romantic Suspense. Young Adult - CW. Action-Adventure - CW.