Nettie Parker’s Backyard by CV Smith

Nettie Parker’s Backyard by CV Smith
 

Book Blurb:

Nettie Parker’s Backyard is a WWII historical-fiction novel for 4^th-7^th graders.  The book tackles important lessons against bullying and intolerance toward race, religion, and the physically challenged.  The title character has experienced prejudice as an African-American growing up in the 1920’s American South.  Later, while studying nursing in London, a blitzkrieg bombing forces Nettie to spend the rest of her life in a wheelchair.  But Nettie Parker is strong and never gives up.  The values of dedication, commitment, and love come across clearly to the reader as she cares for eight Jewish refugee children.  Nettie has inherited some special gifts, one of them supernatural signs which always lead her in the right direction toward helping others. To keep the audience captivated, the story’s values and ethics are woven into the plot with ribbons of mystery and mysticism.  When statues suddenly begin appearing in Nettie’s backyard, she is driven to find the reason why, and in the process discovers that love truly is the greatest force of all in a surprise, twist ending.

Excerpt (Introduction):

   I'll never forget the first time the statues started appearing in Aunt Nettie's backyard, and I don't think anyone else in town will ever forget, either.  In a small place like Greengrow, South Carolina, everybody knows Aunt Nettie and how special she is.  But nobody, not even Nettie Parker herself, realized how powerful her gift really was.
   Of all the citizens in Greengrow I like to think that I know Mrs. Nettie Whitman Parker best.  After all, I practically live right next door to her and for the past two years she's been helping me read and write better.  Just recently, Aunt Nettie has started tutoring me three times a week in other subjects like beginning algebra and French.  I'd much rather speak Gullah with her which is one of her African ancestors' languages.  But you can't get school credit for that so we just speak it when we don't want anyone else to know what we're talking about.  At the end of each tutoring lesson Aunt Nettie always says, “Halley iz smaat gal an troot ma-wt, haa'kee!”  In Gullah that means, “Halley is a smart girl and a truthful person, so listen to her!”
   Everybody who knows Aunt Nettie loves and respects her.  I think she's the most wonderful and interesting person I've ever met.  She's even a war hero and loves talking about her life as a nurse in London during World War II.  Some of my favorite stories are the ones she tells about her African ancestors, and how they were kidnapped from an area called the Rice Coast and made into slaves hundreds of years ago.
   Now, you'd think someone who's lived a life as full as she has and is in their nineties might have to slow down a little, but not Aunt Nettie!  In fact, after Jonas, her husband, died last summer it seemed to me that she got busier than ever.  I guess it was her way of trying to fill up the hole that Jonas had left in her life.  We were all pretty worried about her when he passed away; she loved Jonas so much and for a long time she just wasn’t herself.   Little by little, I think Aunt Nettie’s getting better but I’m not sure she’ll ever really be herself again.  She’s trying hard, and every week she visits sick people in the hospital and helps others learn to read at the library.  When the weather's good she's usually outside puttering in her garden, and when it isn't she always finds some project indoors to keep herself busy.  Aunt Nettie’s home is open to everyone and neighborhood kids often stop by to say "hello".  She loves writing letters and considering all the friends and family she has, that could be a full-time job by itself.  Don't be fooled into thinking that because she's in a wheelchair she takes her sweet time getting around, either.  She’ll whiz down the sidewalks of Greengrow almost daily greeting everybody she passes along the way.
   Although Nettie and Jonas were married a long time and loved children, they never could have any of their own.  That's why she insists all the kids in town call her "Aunt" Nettie.  To her, all children are her children.  It doesn't matter what race or religion they are or if they have physical challenges like she has.  Tall or short, boy or girl, every child is special to her.
   Oh, no!  I didn't think it was this late!  I'm supposed to be at her house right now for my tutoring lesson.  Why don't you meet me there?  Aunt Nettie won't mind and she always makes plenty of lemonade and cookies.  Come on!  I'll race you over there!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

   "Aunt Nettie!" I called through the screen door out of breath.  "Are you home?  I came so you can help me with my history today."
   "Yes, Halley, I'm here, I'm coming,” Aunt Nettie called as she pushed the screen door open for me.
   "What's that statue doing over there in the corner of the porch?" I asked as I went into the house.
   "What statue?  Where?" asked Aunt Nettie.
    "Over there!" I said as I pointed around to the left.  "See it?  It's just behind the swing," I added.  Aunt Nettie wheeled herself through the open screen door onto the wooden porch.  Looking in the direction I had pointed Aunt Nettie could just make out the top of a light-gray stone figure.  She wheeled herself closer to get a better look.  And since I wanted a better look, too, I followed right behind her.
    "Why, it's a sculpture of a young boy," said Aunt Nettie.  "He looks like he's about your age, don't you think, Halley?  He seems awfully content just sitting there, reading his book with both legs stretched out in front of him.  I wonder what he's reading that he's enjoying so much," Aunt Nettie said.
    "Sure, I guess he looks about twelve years old…maybe even thirteen.  Why is he here on your front porch?" I asked.
    "I have no idea, Halley.  I didn't buy it.  There's no card on it so I doubt anyone sent it to me as a gift.  The only store around here that sells anything like this is Mr. Peterson's garden shop.  Hmmm…this is strange, all right.  Well, let's get you some lemonade and cookies and start your lesson.  It's probably just been delivered to the wrong address.  Bob Peterson and I are old friends.  I'll call him when we're finished and ask him if he knows anything about it."
    But later when Aunt Nettie called Mr. Peterson about the statue he didn't know anything about it, either.
    "The only thing I can think of is that my new driver delivered it to you by mistake," said Mr. Peterson.  "A statue of a boy was supposed to be delivered to someone who lives way on the other side of town.  He must have gotten confused because both your street names and numbers are similar.  I'm sorry for the mix-up, Nettie.  Say, I'm going to be in your neighborhood tomorrow on business.  Is it okay if I come by and pick it up then?"
    "That'll be fine, Bob," said Aunt Nettie.  "It's not that it isn't a nice statue but I know somebody will be missing it soon."
    "Of course, Nettie.  Sorry for any trouble this caused you," Mr. Peterson said as he ended the call.
   "No trouble at all, Bob.  See you tomorrow," replied Aunt Nettie.
    When Mr. Peterson came by the next day to pick up the statue all he could do was rub his whiskered chin and look very puzzled.
    "This isn't my statue, Nettie.  I've been examining it and what's even more surprising is that it has no markings on it at all.  You see, these types of statues come from a mold.  Even though statues can be made by the thousands each one has certain letters and numbers stamped into it.  Those letters and numbers match up with production lists, styles, manufacturers and so on.  But this one has no markings of any kind!  I have no idea at all who made it or where it came from."
   "How can that be?" Aunt Nettie questioned.  "If somebody had sent it to me as a gift they would have included a card with their name on it.  Otherwise, how would I know who it came from?"
    "Nettie, this statue is much bigger than the one I thought had been delivered by mistake and I didn't drive my truck today.  If you leave it on the front porch somebody might try to take it or it could get damaged.  Let me use your wheelbarrow and move it around to the backyard for the time being.  I'll do some checking to see who might have made or sold it.  Until then let's just leave it in your flower garden, all right?" Mr. Peterson asked.
    "All right, Bob, but please try to find out who it belongs to," said Aunt Nettie.
    "I promise I will.  Now, don't worry about it…enjoy it for a while!" called Mr. Peterson as he went to get the wheelbarrow.
                                                * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
    Several weeks went by but Mr. Peterson still couldn't find out anything about the statue.  He had no idea who had bought it, where it belonged or where it came from.  He knew Aunt Nettie liked it and began thinking that maybe she should just keep it.  But when a second statue appeared in the backyard next to the first one Aunt Nettie got really upset!  She called Mr. Peterson right away:
    "…yes, Bob, I just saw the second statue this afternoon when I went out to water my tomatoes.  No, I'm sure it wasn't there this morning or I would have seen it.  I know you've done all you could to find out about the first statue.  But now that there's a second one I don't think either was delivered by mistake.  Somebody is deliberately sending these statues to me--but who, and why?  None of it makes any sense at all.  If this keeps up I'll have an entire classroom of children out there in no time!  What?  Oh, the second statue is also of a little boy.  He has on an old-fashioned…an old-fashioned…oh, my God!" Aunt Nettie screamed as she dropped the phone on the table.  She wheeled herself down the rear ramp and into the backyard faster than I’d ever seen her go before.
    "…Nettie?" yelled Bob Peterson into the phone.  "Are you all right?  Nettie, are you there?..."
    Whew!  You know, the appearance of these mysterious statues really happens later on in the book.  The story actually begins with Aunt Nettie's ancestors in Africa hundreds of years ago.  She's going to talk all about them in my history class tomorrow because she's the guest teacher.  I'm really excited about it and I hope you'll be there to listen, too!

Available as an eBook on both Amazon Kindle and B&N Nook

Author’s website, http://mysite.verizon.net/ressbmks/

Tweet! By Ritch Gaiti

“Tweet”: one quirky guy takes on big business in a very funny novel
“Tweet” relates a witty and sometimes absurd look into one man’s quest to fight back against big business. The entertaining book is a funny romp through the modern world that engulfs us: the powerless consumer, over-saturated advertising, incessant marketing and big business that has become deaf to the individual. “Tweet” mocks the overwhelming presence of commercialism into the average individual’s life--and his inability to avoid it.

Benhamish Allen’s review on Amazon: “Tweet seeks to answer our questions about change and does so on the border of being fantastically absurd while also humorous, one of my favorite combinations.”

Did you ever feel like you didn't count with big business or the government?  Glebe, the driving force in “Tweet”, just wanted to make a difference and he stumbled on a simple answer to a very pervasive problem. A midlife Jewish ex-adman, Glebe partners with Hartwick, a black homeless guy living in a refrigerator box in midtown Manhattan. Together, they embark on a journey that is totally plausible, definitely relevant, and very funny, as they become the voice of the people and take on everything that irks us.

They just asked people ‘if you could change one thing, what would that be?’ and the world opened up. And their target included everything from dumb advertising, to incessant telephone calls, the economy, and being lost in the automated phone jungle. They even take on the vestigial penny.  It could have stopped there but, through the power of today's weapons, Twitter and the web, it grew into the first worldwide boycott.  Glebe just wanted to make a difference - and he wound up changing the world.

“Tweet” is available as an ebook (ISBN 978-0-615-43704-0) and paperback (ISBN 978-0-983-38370-3).
Published by Sedona Editions, (www.SedonaEditions.com)

About the Author

Ritch Gaiti (www.RitchGaiti.com) writes about of the world that we touch everyday--- making the things that frustrate us the most, suddenly understandable, fixable and funny. He has also written “Points: Women have them, men need them,” a tongue-in-cheek relationship book which can help you ‘be successful in this marriage and all of your future marriages’.

Gaiti has written screenplays and many articles for national magazines and has been featured on national radio and TV, including the Today Show. He is also a recognized artist of western art, exhibiting in several galleries and museums throughout the country. His portfolio can be viewed on www.gaiti.com <http://www.gaiti.com> .

The Reluctant Queen by Freda Lightfoot

Reluctant Queen

History tells us that when Gabrielle de Estrées was sixteen years old she was so pretty and already in possession of a good figure, that at her mother’s instigation she was sold as mistress, to Henri III. The deal was negotiated through a third party, Montigny, and a sum of six thousand crowns agreed as payment to compensate her for the loss of her daughter. A most unnatural mother if ever there was one. Montigny, however, only remitted her two-thirds of that amount, retaining the balance for himself, and when this came to the king’s ears he lost all favour.

 Gabrielle, however, got the worst of the deal as she was passed on from lover to lover, including the Cardinal de Guise. He was her lover for more than a year, until May 1588 when he left for Paris to support his nephew, the Duke de Guise, in what became known as the Day of the Barricades.

For a time Gabrielle felt free, was passionately in love with the Duke de Bellegarde, Grand Equerry of France, Master of the King's Wardrobe and First Gentleman of his Chamber. Henri III, with whom Bellegarde was in high favour, is said to have supported his suit. Unfortunately, Gabrielle was a sprightly, spoiled little miss at this time and was also in love with the Duke de Longueville. Playing one off against the other she couldn’t quite make up her mind which would make the better husband.

She was considered to be a perfect beauty, and the courtiers waxed lyrical on the subject.

‘Blue eyes so brilliant as to dazzle one; a complexion of the composition of the Graces but in which the lilies surpassed the roses unless it were animated by some deep feeling… a mouth on which gaiety and love reposed, and which was perfectly furnished.’…‘fair hair like fine gold, caught up in a mass, or slightly crisped above the forehead.’… ‘the nose straight and regular, the mouth small, smiling and purplish, the cast of physiognomy engaging and tender. A charm was spread over every outline. Her eyes were blue, quick, soft and clear. She was wholly feminine in her tastes, her ambitions, and even her defects.’

Bellegarde was so besotted he foolishly boasted about her to his master, Henry of Navarre, who later became Henry IV of France. And the rest, as they say, is history…

Blurb

The story of Gabrielle d’Estrées is one of love, betrayal, intrigue and tragedy. All she wants is to marry for love, and enjoy the respectability of a happy marriage. But in the court of sixteenth century France this is almost impossible to achieve. She was sold by her own mother to three different lovers before catching the eye of a king.

Henry has a weakness for beautiful women with fair hair and blue eyes, and once he sees Gabrielle, he knows he must have her. She bears him children and he promises to marry her, despite still being married to the exiled Queen Marguerite de Valois.

Is the love of a king enough to secure Gabrielle the happiness and respectability she craves, and a crown for her son as the next dauphin of France?

Here is a short extract from the opening pages of Reluctant Queen.

 Part One

Margot

1578

‘My sweet one, I love you more than I can say. I do understand your concern, but no other woman is prettier or more charming than you. I cherish the day Madame de Tignonville, your dear mother, was chosen as companion and governess for my sister when she returned recently from Paris. Otherwise I might never have met you.’

Jeanne cast a sideways glance up at him from beneath her lashes, carefully studying his expression for evidence of his sincerity. This was the King of Navarre she was refusing, after all, not some young courtier with no manners or money to his name. Was that wise? Her caution lay not simply with regard to her virtue, virgin though she undoubtedly was, but with the sad fact that the King was not free as he possessed a wife already. But then Queen Margot remained in Paris, held captive by her brother Henri III and her mother Catherine de Medici. Even as Jeanne heeded her own mother’s wise advice not to yield too easily, she felt giddy with the possibilities of what heights she might reach by capturing the King’s heart. ‘Sire, I must guard my reputation. I am an innocent.’

‘Your innocence enchants me. I adore you.’

‘But how can you say that when you hardly know me?’

‘Your modesty does you great credit, but you are not so innocent as to fail to see how the very sight of you sets my pulses racing. I must have you. I need you by my side, day and night.’

Jeanne was instantly alarmed, a flush of pink flooding her soft cheeks. ‘Sire, you speak wild. I am a maiden. My mother would never consent.’

‘I am not asking your mother. Besides, how could she deny a King?’ he teased. ‘Ah, but I see I am rushing you, my little one. Will you grant me a kiss at least?’

Henry gazed into her blue eyes, entranced. He was all too aware that falling in love was as natural to him as eating the pigeon pie he loved so much, or drinking his favourite Gascon wine. He was quite unable to resist a beautiful woman, particularly one as young and delightful as this one. Her dark hair was so soft that he ached to stroke it, her childlike form so delicate his fingers itched to caress her budding young breasts. He had been pursuing the girl for some weeks now, ever since his sister Catherine had come home, yet she resisted him still.

Capturing her in his arms he attempted to steal a kiss, but at the last moment Jeanne averted her face. ‘What is it my lovely, do I repulse you?’

‘Of course not, Your Grace.’ She looked appalled by the very idea, which soothed his bruised ego somewhat. Nevertheless, Henry very reluctantly let her go.

‘Why then do you deny me? I am not an unkind man, a most generous one in fact, known for my good humour and equable temper. Nor would I ever force myself upon a woman. Ah, could it be that you have never been kissed before?’

The flush deepened and Henry laughed out loud. ‘That is the way of it, eh? An innocent indeed.’ The prospect of teaching this delightful child all about love making excited him more than he could express. What a diligent teacher he would be! ‘Perhaps, as our friendship develops, and if I am very good, you will permit me a little license?’

Soft lips pouted as she considered the matter, blue eyes bright with wounded pride. Jeanne felt confused and untutored in these matters, uncertain how to protect herself and yet not lose his interest completely. ‘I do not see how a maid of honour could dare to refuse a king anything, so I beg of you, Sire, not to presume upon me by asking.’ So saying, she sank into a curtsey and begged leave to depart. Chuckling with delight Henry granted her wish. Oh, but he would enjoy wooing this little one, and one way or another, he would win her.

East End Angel by Carol Rivers

EAST END ANGEL

Blurb

June 1941, Isle of Dogs, London. In the dark days following the Blitz, happiness visits young Pearl Jenkins as she celebrates her marriage to Jim Nesbitt. But what should be a joyful occasion is marred when a fight breaks out between Jim and Ricky Winters, an unwelcome visitor from Pearl's past. And to Pearl's horror, the new beau of her wayward younger sister Ruby. Increasingly uneasy at staying at home when other men are off fighting for their country, Jim enlists, leaving Pearl at home - alone, pregnant, and at Ricky's mercy...Together, Pearl and Ruby must bring up baby Cynthia while struggling to make ends meet and dodge the doodlebugs. And all the time, Pearl must hide the dark secret she harbours, one which would tear the two sisters apart as well as her marriage. Then tragedy strikes both on the home front and in the trenches and Pearl is forced to fight like never before to keep her family safe.

Excerpt

Pearl glanced at her husband and searched his face. She knew that the two men had always competed fiercely at sport and there had been no love lost between them. Jim had been a popular member amongst his team mates but not so Ricky, a loner. Jim had never possessed any of  Ricky’s smooth charm that seemed to set him apart from the others and had turned all the female heads.

‘You could say we were acquaintances, yes,’ Jim muttered coldly.

‘It’s been a long time,’ Ricky nodded. ‘Congratulations.’ His eloquent tone had Pearl’s heart banging against her ribs as his gaze travelled slowly towards her.

‘You two was much older than us,’ Ruby burst out, seemingly unaware of the tension. ‘I was only just left school when you rowed for the club, Ricky. Pearl, you must’ve been what - sixteen?’

Pearl nodded. ‘Yes, about that.’

‘We used to watch the boys in the gym, remember?’ Ruby giggled, nudging Pearl’s arm. ‘ Those other two girls liked a good gander through the window too. That Stella Burns and her mate. They was always throwing themselves at anything in trousers. Dunno what happened to her. Someone said she got - ’ Ruby looked embarrassed. ‘Anyway, that was a long time ago now, but how strange that me and Ricky met up at the pictures again? Remember that film Captain Fury we saw last year, Pearl? Well it was showing again a few weeks ago and Ricky was on a weekend’s leave with one of his mates. I was with Irene Naylor from work. Don’t know how he recognized me but it was that flashy gold band on his arm that caught my eye.’

Pearl had already noted the sub-lieutenant’s gold braid and it was clear that Jim had too.

‘So you’ve joined the reserves?’ Jim said icily.

‘The Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve,’ Ricky corrected in the same tone.

‘Yeah, the wavy navy,’ sneered Jim and Pearl cringed at the derogatory expression. She was not surprised when Ricky retorted, ‘And you, Jim? No uniform?’

‘You’d better help yourselves to something to eat before it’s all gone,’ Pearl suggested quickly, giving Ruby a little nudge.

‘Good idea,’ Ruby nodded as she slid her hand through Ricky’s arm. ‘And I want to introduce Ricky to Mum and Dad. Dunno if they’d remember him, but they might.’

But when they were alone, Jim turned on Pearl. ‘What did you do that for? I can speak up for meself.’

‘I didn’t do anything.’ Pearl was shaken. ‘And don’t bite me head off, Jim. I was only telling them about the food.’

‘They could see the grub clearly enough, couldn’t they? There’s enough to feed the five thousand. Didn’t you see he was having a go at me? And I certainly don’t need you to fight me battles.’

‘You started it, Jim,’ Pearl retaliated. ‘Saying about the wavy navy.’

‘Are you taking his side?’

Pearl went scarlet. ‘Course not. But I don’t want a row on me wedding day.’

‘Wedding or not,’ growled Jim, ‘I’m fed up with every Tom Dick and Harry thinking a man in civvies has no backbone. It’s people like Winters that get my goat. A bloody reservist, I ask you! They think they’re God’s gift to the country. And what the heck is he doing here anyway?’

Pearl shrugged dismissively. ‘I’ve no idea.’

‘You didn’t know she was seeing him?’

‘No, she never said.’ Pearl wondered why her sister had not told her about Ricky. They spoke about everything and had shared the same room since they were kids. They’d gone to the same school, had the same friends and only gone their separate ways when Pearl started her job in the council offices. Later Ruby had joined Brewer’s the wholesalers on the wharf. When war broke out, Brewer’s was requisitioned by the war office and Ruby had stayed on and joined the assembly line. Ruby was her best friend. They had no secrets, except it seemed, for Ricky...  

EAST END ANGEL

ISBN 978-1847398420 Available in paperback from Amazon and Kindle Ereader. Published by Simon & Schuster.

Authors website, http://carolrivers.com

Sultana by Lisa Yarde

Sultana Blurb

In thirteenth-century Moorish Spain, the realm of Granada is in crisis. The union of Fatima, granddaughter of the Sultan of Granada, with the Sultan’s nephew Faraj has fractured the nation. A bitter civil war escalates and endangers both Fatima and Faraj’s lives. 
 All her life, Fatima has sheltered in lavish palaces where danger has never intruded, until now. A precocious child and the unwitting pawn of her family, she soon learns how her marriage may determine her future and the fate of Granada. Her husband Faraj has his own qualms about their union. At a young age, he witnessed the deaths of his parents and discovered how affluence and power offers little protection against indomitable enemies. Guilt and fears plague him. Determined to carve his own destiny, Faraj struggles to regain his lost inheritance and avenge his murdered family. 
 Throughout the rugged frontiers of southern Spain, the burgeoning Christian kingdoms in the north and the desert states of North Africa, Fatima and Faraj survive ruthless murderers and intrigues. They unite against common enemies bent on destroying the last Moorish dynasty. While Fatima and Faraj establish a powerful bond, the atmosphere of deceit creates opportunities for mistrust and tests their love.

Excerpt:

Gharnatah, al-Andalus: Safar 677 AH (Granada, Andalusia: July AD 1278)

Fatima endured seven weeks of bitter silence, during which she received no word from Faraj. Her father shared the daily dispatches on the reclamation of the port at al-Jazirah al-Khadra and the defense against the Castillans. Still, no word arrived of her husband’s fate. She retreated into a shell of suffering, filled with self-recrimination. The remembrance of his final words offered little comfort in the emptiness of her bedchamber at night.

On the first cool day of the summer, Sultana Shams ed-Duna insisted she accompany her and the kadin Nur al-Sabah to the souk of Gharnatah. Her stepmother refused Fatima’s initial rebuff.

After prayers, the trio, in the company of Niranjan, the palace guard and some servants, took the route down the Sabika hill and across the bridge of the Hadarro River. The Qaysariyya marketplace spread across the dun-brown plain at the south of the city, extending from the foot of the Sabika hill to the red brick walls of Gharnatah. Jewish and Christian merchants plied their trade alongside their Moorish counterparts, the local goldsmiths, armories, shoemakers, blacksmiths and textile makers.

The Sultan’s guards jostled everyone and made a clear path for the women. Fatima shrank from the resentful gazes of those displaced by the guards’ rough handling. She kept close to Shams ed-Duna and Nur al-Sabah, who doggedly haggled with the market sellers, while their slaves idled alongside the narrow streets and alleyways. Merchants offered slaves from faraway lands, bartering away their lives as easily as the silk, leather goods, brocades, ivory and olive oil sold in the souk.

The stench of piss and offal in the streets vied with ambergris, musk and incense from a nearby stall. Fatima gripped her stomach, as a wave of dizziness overcame her.

The kadin frowned at her. “Are you unwell?”

“I hadn’t expected it to be so crowded, or smell so bad.”

“Look, it’s a symbol of the Nauar.” Shams pointed to a burnished copper wheel dangling from a tent post under a faded, blue awning. “I have not seen one since I left Fés el-Bali.”

Nur al-Sabah peered over her shoulder. “Hmm, the Gypsies. Is it true they foretell the future?”

Fatima shook her head. “What nonsense they must teach in Christian households. The Nauar speak only in riddles to confuse and delude the mind.”

Shams asked, “How can you be so certain? Have you ever been to one?”

Fatima replied, “I wouldn’t dare. Sorcery and divination is the work of the court astrologer. Ask him anything you would like. I’m sure Father wouldn’t object.”

Then, a heavily veiled woman followed by two eunuchs exited the shop. One of the slaves pressed two silver dirhams into the olive brown hand of a little girl with bulging, black eyes. She took the coins and disappeared into the tent. The other eunuch handed his mistress a silken kerchief. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes, before bustling through the marketplace, her slaves following.

“I’d like to go in.” Nur al-Sabah cupped the roundness of her belly jutting beneath the green silk robe. “The court astrologer has promised another girl, but I know the Sultan wants a son. Perhaps the Nauar might know for certain.”

Fatima sniffed at this and looked away. She did not resent Nur al-Sabah’s desire anymore. Still, her father did not need more sons. He already had her brother Muhammad and now Shams ed-Duna’s boy.

Shams ed-Duna tugged at her hand. “What harm could there be if you came with us, Fatima?”

She pulled away. “I forbid it!”

Shams ed-Duna chuckled and Nur al-Sabah rolled her eyes.

Fatima gritted her teeth together and then expelled a sighing breath. “Very well, I’ll indulge you both in this foolishness. Come, let us see this fraud.”

They crossed the street, avoiding refuse and excrement, while a cadre of the guards and their servants surrounded the stall. Niranjan held aside the low curtain hanging over the entryway. Fatima glanced at him briefly, but he averted his eyes from her. She entered first and asked the little girl with black eyes for the fortune-teller. She led them behind a cloth curtain and gestured to the lone seat at a table.

Behind it, a shriveled figure with lips drawn tight over her teeth peered at them in silence. A ring of seashells, all oddly shaped, dotted the edge of the table, with one black pebble in the center. Fatima grinned at this poor mockery of mystic symbolism, but Shams ed-Duna urged her forward.

The gypsy woman bowed her head. “Peace be with you.”

Fatima asked, “And with you. Are you the one who speaks of the future?”

“Do you wish to know the future, noble one?”

Ignoring Nur al-Sabah’s gasp, Fatima leaned forward. “Why do you call me ‘noble one’ when you do not know me?”

“It is what you are.” The woman turned to the girl hovering at her side. Whispering in some language other than Arabic, she waved the girl away. The child soon returned with a cup of fragrant tisane, which the woman offered to Fatima. “It cannot harm you.”

Fatima glared at her companions, both of whom nodded. She drank the brew, bitter to the tongue at first, but sweeter as she continued. She finished and handed the cup to the woman, who said, “If you could swirl the cup, noble one?”

Fatima ground her teeth together, but complied. She set the vessel down with an abrupt clank. A few of the leaves clung to the sides and bottom. Her gaze fixed on the woman who nodded. “We must wait for the leaves to settle.”

When Fatima groaned, Shams pressed a hand against her arm. “Be patient.”

After an interim, the gypsy asked, “What is it that you wish to know, noble one?”

Fatima countered, “Tell me what you see.”

The woman stared into the cup and after a brief interval, she pronounced, “The future of Gharnatah lies within you.”

Fatima smiled at her companions. “You see? An answer, if I can call it such, without any meaning. Just as I expected.” She stood and looked down her nose at the gypsy. “Can your leaves tell you anything about me?”

The woman stated, “Nothing you would believe, princess of Gharnatah.”

Nur al-Sabah pecked at her arm and whispered something, but Fatima stilled her and leaned toward the gypsy. “Why do you call me a princess?”

“It is what you are. As I have said, the future of Gharnatah lies within you. Already, you carry one of its heirs in your womb, your son, who shall become the Sultan of Gharnatah.”

Shams ed-Duna pressed her hand against Fatima’s shoulder, but she shrugged her stepmother off. “If you knew anything of me, you would know that no child of mine could ever be Sultan. It is treason to suggest it, when the Sultan already has an heir. Besides, I would know if I am with child.”

“I speak only of what I see, noble one. You are a princess of Gharnatah. You carry a son. One day, he shall become the Sultan. Such is the fate that awaits you, whether you would wish it or not.”