When the tour date arrives, copy and paste the HTML Provided in the box. Don't forget to add your honest review if you wish! PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT ON THIS POST WHEN THE TOUR COMES AROUND!
Grab the HTML for the entire post (will look like the post below):
***************************************************************************
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Kregel Publications (April 1, 2009)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Marjorie Presten is a native Georgian who has her own fair share of experience juggling career and motherhood. She lives outside of Atlanta with her husband, Tom, and their three children.
Listen to a radio interview about the book HERE.
Product Details:
List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 320 pages
Publisher: Kregel Publications (April 1, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 082543565X
ISBN-13: 978-0825435652
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Prologue
1972
In a thirty-second phone call, Hamilton Wells would make a decision that would earn him more money than he could spend in his lifetime. Everything was on the line, but he was not nervous, euphoric, or eager with anticipation. In Hamilton’s mind, the matter was not speculative, debatable, or anything less than a sure thing. Hamilton had the gift, and it had never let him down. Yet even before he made the call, he knew money wouldn’t cure the unrelenting pain of his grief. He sat at his desk with only a single orange banker’s lamp for illumination and cried silently.
Her death had been inevitable, but feelings of helplessness still overwhelmed him. His young son’s dependency on him only multiplied his grief and anger. Six-year-old Jack Wells had insisted his father do something to help Mama, but the only thing Hamilton could do was sit at her bedside and try not to cry. Now it was six weeks after her death, and Hamilton knew his son needed him to be strong, to return life to normal. A neighbor had enrolled Jack in the local church baseball league. They played a game every Wednesday afternoon. It will be good for him, they’d said. Life has to go on.
Hamilton cradled his head in his hands and groaned. The enormity of the risk he was about to take didn’t concern him. It was purely mechanical. He would surrender all he owned for just one more blissful afternoon at the lake he and his wife both loved, but now that was impossible. His wife was dead. Nothing he could do would change that.
He remembered the book of Job. Would a loving and caring God do this to the love of my life? Well, he did, Hamilton thought bitterly. Earline had lingered for months. The doctors said it was miraculous that she had endured as long as she had. Be grateful for these last days to say goodbye, they’d said. But for Hamilton, the prolonged end only added anger to his bottomless sorrow. Standing alongside his son as a helpless witness to her slow deterioration and suffering in the final weeks was more than he could bear. It was the worst time of Hamilton’s life. Nothing really mattered anymore, and it seemed he had nothing left to lose.
Under different circumstances, he might have played it safe and put the proceeds away for his son’s education, bought a new house, or perhaps invested in a bit of lake property. He could have become like the rest of the players and worn monograms on his starched cuffs so everyone could remember whose hand they were shaking. Instead, he had gone it alone. His brokerage business had few clients. He was the only big player left. Now he planned to risk everything on something happening on the other side of the world.
Ham couldn’t remember exactly when he had recognized his innate ability to pick the winner out of a crowd. It had always been there, ever since he was conscious of being alive. The talent had blossomed in the military when the card games occasionally got serious. Now, with every dollar he had to his name, Hamilton approached wheat futures with that same instinct. The Russian harvest had been a disaster, and the United States was coming to the rescue. The price of wheat was going to go through the roof, and then through the floor. He was going to make a fortune on both ends.
He picked up the phone and dialed a number on the Chicago Mercantile exchange. He listened for a few moments as the connection was made. Young Jack tugged at his father’s shirtsleeve. “Pop? Can we go now?” Jack held a baseball in his hand and a glove under his arm. Hamilton swiveled his chair, turning his back to his son.
A familiar voice announced his name. “How can I help you?”
“It’s Ham,” he said. “Short the entire position.”
“What? Everything?” the voice asked.
“Everything.” No emotion colored his voice.
Young Jack crept gingerly around the chair to face his father. “Pop,” he whispered, “come on, the game is about to start.” Hamilton shook his head and looked away.
The voice on the phone was still talking. “Most folks are still enjoying the ride, Ham. You could get hurt.”
“It’s not going a penny higher. Short it all.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Warn me? My wife is dead. What else matters?”
The voice mumbled something about her passing.
“She didn’t pass. She’s dead. Just do what I ask.”
“OK, Ham.” The phone disconnected.
Jack was standing there in front of him, shoulders slumped. The ball hung loose at the end of his fingers, and the glove had fallen on the carpet. “Pop, can we go now?”
“Sorry, Son. Not today.”
“It’s not fair!” Jack erupted. Hot tears sprang up in his eyes. “What am I supposed to do now?”
Ham looked down, silent.
Jack hurled the ball to the floor, wiped his tears angrily, and stormed out of the house.
Ten minutes later on the futures board, wheat ticked down.
It ticked down again.
And so it would continue. Ham would be richer than he’d ever imagined. He’d never experience another financial challenge for the rest of his life. It was not really important, though. Scripture came back to him: “what good is it for a man to gain the whole world, yet forfeit his soul?”
He would trade it all to have his love, his life, back again.
But that was not an option.
Out his window, Ham could see young Jack riding his bicycle furiously down the street. He watched with a passive surrender as his son’s small frame shrank into the distance.
1972
In a thirty-second phone call, Hamilton Wells would make a decision that would earn him more money than he could spend in his lifetime. Everything was on the line, but he was not nervous, euphoric, or eager with anticipation. In Hamilton’s mind, the matter was not speculative, debatable, or anything less than a sure thing. Hamilton had the gift, and it had never let him down. Yet even before he made the call, he knew money wouldn’t cure the unrelenting pain of his grief. He sat at his desk with only a single orange banker’s lamp for illumination and cried silently.
Her death had been inevitable, but feelings of helplessness still overwhelmed him. His young son’s dependency on him only multiplied his grief and anger. Six-year-old Jack Wells had insisted his father do something to help Mama, but the only thing Hamilton could do was sit at her bedside and try not to cry. Now it was six weeks after her death, and Hamilton knew his son needed him to be strong, to return life to normal. A neighbor had enrolled Jack in the local church baseball league. They played a game every Wednesday afternoon. It will be good for him, they’d said. Life has to go on.
Hamilton cradled his head in his hands and groaned. The enormity of the risk he was about to take didn’t concern him. It was purely mechanical. He would surrender all he owned for just one more blissful afternoon at the lake he and his wife both loved, but now that was impossible. His wife was dead. Nothing he could do would change that.
He remembered the book of Job. Would a loving and caring God do this to the love of my life? Well, he did, Hamilton thought bitterly. Earline had lingered for months. The doctors said it was miraculous that she had endured as long as she had. Be grateful for these last days to say goodbye, they’d said. But for Hamilton, the prolonged end only added anger to his bottomless sorrow. Standing alongside his son as a helpless witness to her slow deterioration and suffering in the final weeks was more than he could bear. It was the worst time of Hamilton’s life. Nothing really mattered anymore, and it seemed he had nothing left to lose.
Under different circumstances, he might have played it safe and put the proceeds away for his son’s education, bought a new house, or perhaps invested in a bit of lake property. He could have become like the rest of the players and worn monograms on his starched cuffs so everyone could remember whose hand they were shaking. Instead, he had gone it alone. His brokerage business had few clients. He was the only big player left. Now he planned to risk everything on something happening on the other side of the world.
Ham couldn’t remember exactly when he had recognized his innate ability to pick the winner out of a crowd. It had always been there, ever since he was conscious of being alive. The talent had blossomed in the military when the card games occasionally got serious. Now, with every dollar he had to his name, Hamilton approached wheat futures with that same instinct. The Russian harvest had been a disaster, and the United States was coming to the rescue. The price of wheat was going to go through the roof, and then through the floor. He was going to make a fortune on both ends.
He picked up the phone and dialed a number on the Chicago Mercantile exchange. He listened for a few moments as the connection was made. Young Jack tugged at his father’s shirtsleeve. “Pop? Can we go now?” Jack held a baseball in his hand and a glove under his arm. Hamilton swiveled his chair, turning his back to his son.
A familiar voice announced his name. “How can I help you?”
“It’s Ham,” he said. “Short the entire position.”
“What? Everything?” the voice asked.
“Everything.” No emotion colored his voice.
Young Jack crept gingerly around the chair to face his father. “Pop,” he whispered, “come on, the game is about to start.” Hamilton shook his head and looked away.
The voice on the phone was still talking. “Most folks are still enjoying the ride, Ham. You could get hurt.”
“It’s not going a penny higher. Short it all.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Warn me? My wife is dead. What else matters?”
The voice mumbled something about her passing.
“She didn’t pass. She’s dead. Just do what I ask.”
“OK, Ham.” The phone disconnected.
Jack was standing there in front of him, shoulders slumped. The ball hung loose at the end of his fingers, and the glove had fallen on the carpet. “Pop, can we go now?”
“Sorry, Son. Not today.”
“It’s not fair!” Jack erupted. Hot tears sprang up in his eyes. “What am I supposed to do now?”
Ham looked down, silent.
Jack hurled the ball to the floor, wiped his tears angrily, and stormed out of the house.
Ten minutes later on the futures board, wheat ticked down.
It ticked down again.
And so it would continue. Ham would be richer than he’d ever imagined. He’d never experience another financial challenge for the rest of his life. It was not really important, though. Scripture came back to him: “what good is it for a man to gain the whole world, yet forfeit his soul?”
He would trade it all to have his love, his life, back again.
But that was not an option.
Out his window, Ham could see young Jack riding his bicycle furiously down the street. He watched with a passive surrender as his son’s small frame shrank into the distance.
22 comments:
scheduled to post with links to my previous review and interview with the author.
Scheduled and reviewed
My post is up, but without a review. I just don't feel that I have the proper focus right now... review will come later. I'm sorry. :-?
~MizB
http://mizb-reviews.blogspot.com
scheduled to post. Hope to have it read by tomorrow for a review.
Blessings,
Mimi B
Scheduled to post with a review. I also will be posting a Guest Blogger post that the author wrote explaining the "birth" of this book and other things relevant to the story that will be interesting to readers!
So, I will have two separate posts going up that day about Essie.
scheduled to post w/review. Did I miss the post for the Christmas Kitchen? I thought the tour was today. I have my review ready.
posted witha review- www.homeschoolblogger.com/martha
Set to post. :)
Scheduled to post. I'm afraid I couldn't get through this one - might just be bad timing so I'll just write a brief comment and recommend that people read the free chapter and other reviews.
Scheduled to post!
Posted with review
Wyndy
http://wynsbooks.blogspot.com
It's posted with review.
My post is up with a mini-review - full review will come later this week. I had an unexpected surgery come up.
http://myreadingroom-crystal.blogspot.com/2009/12/first-wild-card-tour-essie-in-progress.html
My post with review for this up! Book Reviews by Buuklvr81
Blessings!!!
Molly
My wordpress site had issues with the HTML, so I was unable to embed the first chapter. However, my review has been posted here:
http://www.jennsbookshelves.com/2009/12/04/review-essie-in-progress-by-marjorie-presten/
I'm up! With first chapter and a review.
Posted with a review at http://www.daysongreflections.com/?p=3475
Really enjoyed this book.
Posted and ready to go
Posted with review, had a little trouble with this one but ended up enjoying it.
Posted: http://winningreadings.blogspot.com/2009/12/reviewgiveaway-essie-in-progress.html
Review is up.
It appears that my comment re: posting this didn't go through. The book posting went up on the fourth and the review today.
Post a Comment