Date Published: May 21, 2024
Publisher: Acorn Publishing
Colonist Benjamin Waite, a devoted husband, father, and skilled military
scout in King Philip’s War, reluctantly obeys orders to guide an
attack against a camp of Algonquian Natives.
After the catastrophic event, Benjamin is burdened with guilt and longs for peace. But the Algonquians, led by the revered sachem Ashpelon, retaliate with vengeance upon Ben’s Massachusetts town of Hatfield, capturing over a dozen colonists, including his pregnant wife Martha and their three young daughters.
Hatfield 1677 is a tale of three interwoven yet diverging journeys of strength and survival: Benjamin, driven by love and remorse to rescue his family; Martha, forced into captivity and desperately striving to protect her children; and Ashpelon, willing to risk everything to ensure the safety and freedom of his people.
Based on the lives of the author’s ancestors, this riveting and unforgettable novel gives voice to three vastly different experiences in North America during a time before the creation of the Declaration of Independence. Then, the land was but a wilderness and a battleground; equality was not yet perceived as self-evident; and liberty and happiness were nothing more than dangerous pursuits.
Read an Excerpt Below
About the Author
Laura C. Rader earned a BA in psychology from San Diego State University, where she minored in history and took creative writing and literature classes. She drew on those passions in her thirty-year career as a history and English teacher of elementary and middle school students. Now, a full-time historical fiction writer, Laura also enjoys studying genealogy, attending neighborhood book club meetings, taking forest walks with her Rough Collie, and visiting her adult daughter in Brooklyn. Originally from California, Laura lives twenty miles north of Raleigh, North Carolina. Hatfield 1677 is a work of historical fiction inspired by a story Laura discovered about her ninth great-grandparents while researching her family’s genealogy.
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more personal "stuff" about Laura C. Rader... (excerpt below)
Let’s get started…Tell us about your book?
What is the PRIMARY benefit, above all
others, that your potential reader will gain from reading this book?
I hope a better understanding of the
conflict between European colonists and First Nation Peoples in North America.
It was more nuanced than many people believe, probably avoidable, much more
violent, and completely heartbreaking.
If you had to compare this book to any
other book out there, which book would it be?
Caleb’s Crossing by Geraldine Brooks or
The Flight of the Sparrow by Amy Belding Brown
Hundreds of thousands of books come out
every year. Why should someone buy THIS book?
First of all, because Hatfield 1677 is
an engaging story. It is a love story, a survival story, a story of heroism and
a story of cross-cultural prejudice and compassion all rolled into one.
Secondly, because I take the time to make my historical fiction as historically
accurate as possible.
Who is your target audience?
I think a lot of my readers will be men and women over 35, many from New England, who are interested in learning more about history and like a good story.
Did your environment or upbringing play
a major role in your writing and did you use it to your advantage?
Yes. My father was a university history professor, so I grew up well-educated in that field. I also loved to read and my mother took my sister and me to the library every week. From an early age, my teachers encouraged me and praised my writing. And I was a teacher for thirty years, so teaching reading and writing and history just expanded my knowledge and skills.
Tell us your most rewarding experience
since publishing your work?
I’m sure there will be many more, but the one that stands out is holding the finished novel in my hands.
How would you describe your writing
style?
In terms of voice, I love to write dialog and description, and favor long sentences.
In terms of process, I’m a “pantser”
mostly.
I do a lot of upfront research, a rough
plot outline, and character sketches, but after that, I research and improvise
as I go along. Once I have a full manuscript written, I set it aside for at
least a month before I look at it again to begin revisions.
Are your characters pure fiction, or did
you draw from people you know?
In Hatfield 1677, I used the actual names of the real people and based their age, family, social class, and basic character as much as possible on historical records. Then I tried to empathize with what each might do or say or feel in a given situation.
Are you more of a character artist or a
plot-driven writer? I’m not sure. I try to do both.
What do you hope to accomplish with your book other than selling it?
I want people to read it, and to love
the story and characters as much as I do.
How can our readers get in touch with
you?
My website is https://www.lcrwriter.com and my
professional email is lcrwriter@gmail.com.
Where can our readers purchase your
book?
On line at Amazon Amazon
Hatfield 1677 Link
Barnes &
Noble Barnes &
Noble Link Hatfield 1677
D2D: https://books2read.com/u/mVYx5Z
I am also working hard to place it in
libraries and indie bookstores in San Diego County, where I grew up; North
Carolina where I live such as Page 158 Books in Wake Forest https://www.page158books.com/ and also in New England, where the story took
place.
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CHAPTER ELEVEN
MARTHA WAITE
I was startled by a pounding of little fists. I set Mattie in the
chair with the book and opened the door. Mary and Abigail stood there, eyes
wide, cheeks flushed from running.
“Mama, there’s smoke, look, and loud noises, like dogs howling!”
Mary said, pointing down the street and scampering inside.
“Or wolves!” Abigail added, pushing past me.
“Wolves?” Mattie cried. “Mommy, wolves are scary, like lions.
Look, look, it is a picture of a wolf in this book!” Mattie said, climbing down
off the chair to show me.
I stuck my head out the door and smelled smoke. Not the whiff of
cooking fires; this was denser, with the scent of iron and burnt paper. My
whole body trembled. I peered down the lane and saw black smoke roiling above
the rooftops.
Over the shouting from the carpenters next door came the dreaded
and all too familiar battle cries.
I slammed and barred the door, then pressed my back against it and
closed my eyes. Sweat flushed my brow. I took several deep breaths. Nearly all
our men were in the fields, as usual. The Natives knew our predictable English
ways.
“Mommy? What’s the matter?”
My eyes flew open at Mary’s voice.
I ran and closed the shutters on the two front windows. Scooping
up Sally, ragdoll and all, I gazed about my home as if angels might have
descended to rescue us.
The musket! Ben had left it hanging above the mantle. At the end
of every mustering day, he had me practice loading and firing it. I hadn’t
needed that knowledge till now.
“Mary, Abigail, take Mattie and Sally to the
lean-to. We’re going to play hide-and-go-seek. Hide in the empty cupboard in
the lean-to where we used to keep the jelly before we ate it all,” I said,
failing to keep the tremor of fear from my voice.
Halfway there, Abigail stopped and looked at me.
“But, if you know where we’re hiding, ’tis not fair, and—”
I cut her off. “Abigail, do as you’re told,” I
said sharply.
“Will you count to twenty?” Mattie asked. Mary
grabbed her hand, and Abigail took Sally’s.
“I’m counting to fifty. Now, go!”
Mary had seen the smoke. Like Abigail, she knew
the seeker doesn’t choose the hiding place. I thanked God for Mary’s virtue of
obedience. She asked no questions, just hurried all of them to the lean-to.
“One, two, three . . .” I counted aloud. I
stood on a stool, took down the gun, and reached for the powder, balls, and
rags. Ignoring the blood pounding in my ears, I talked myself through the
steps, remembering Ben’s words.
Place the butt end on the floor and point the muzzle at the
ceiling.
“Four, five, six . . .” Measure
powder from the horn, pour it into the barrel, then ram a wad of cloth and the
musket ball down. “Seven, eight,
nine, ten . . .” Replace the ramrod. Push the frisson forward, add a
pinch of powder to the pan, and close the frisson. Finally, cock it halfway.
“Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen . . .” I made
the flintlock ready in the time it took to recite the steps. Slinging the
powder horn around my neck, I stuffed the pouch of musket balls and wads into
my apron pocket. I grabbed the picture book and my little Bible, too.
“Mommy?” Mattie called, “You aren’t counting!”
I skipped ahead. “Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two
. . .”
Pointing the gun, I unbarred the door and cracked
it a few inches to look up and down the lane. Smoke poured from houses on both
sides, so I couldn’t see farther than the blacksmith shop. But I knew the
stockade gate was open, as it had been during the day for the past few
months. Dear God!
The fires were moving in our direction. The
Natives were heading this way. Repeated gunfire shattered the air. The lane
filled with people screaming, crying, yelping, and scattering. I pulled my head
back inside, slammed and barred the door again, then let out a gasp of air I
hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “Thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven . . .”
God had spared us once. I prayed the girls would
stay hidden, that we could flee. I prayed that I would hit my target if I fired
the gun. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I brushed them away. My hands trembled as
I aimed the musket at the door and continued counting.
“Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty! Ready or not,
here I come!”
Thank you for the opportunity to interview with you and for posting the blurb, bio, contest and excerpt.
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