Drawing On The Past

Have you ever wished you could go back in time and write a different ending to something you've lived through? Haven't we all had moments like that?

I wrote two stories based on things from my past this year. One is a sweet story about a boy who used the soles of my shoes as drawing pads during nap time in kindergarten. The story line for Love's In The Cards builds on that experience and features the boy and girl all grown up. There's still time to enter the drawing for a basket of goodies from Maine, in celebration of this story, set in Lobster Cove, ME, in conjunction with my friend Marin McGinnis, who has a historical romance, Tempting Mr. Jordan, set in a coastal Maine town. We've gathered together blueberry jam, a lighthouse bookmark, balsam-scented incense, and other goodies, along with copies of our two books. The Rafflecopter to enter is on the right side of this post.


The other one is a bit more complex. Let me try to explain.

When I was a child, my dad told us his family's little secret. His grandmother was half-Indian! It was never a subject for discussion among his family, since his mother and her siblings were tormented mercilessly all through school because of the tainted blood in their veins. I latched onto the story, wore a fringe jacket and decorated my headbands with feathers. When genealogical records began showing up on the internet, I stepped in with both moccasined feet, trying to find my elusive ancestor.

I dug deep into the Myers side of the family, getting to know distant relatives who I never were aware even existed. My dad's one remaining brother and I had long discussions about my research and how everyone was searching for the same person, and so far, we came up empty. My uncle invented some off-the-wall scenarios about what may have happened. It brought us closer, but I still was far from an answer.

Then Ancestry.com started peddling DNA kits. I waited for six long weeks after providing my sample, and when the results finally came in, I ripped open the mail. Imagine my disappointment when there was not a drop of American Indian blood! There were some surprises but the acknowledgment I had hoped for was nowhere to be found.

So where did the story come from? My great-grandmother, Missouria Belle, appeared on the 1870 census as a white female child. My dad remembered her as having knee-length black hair, even in her elder years. The Myers branches of the family had heard the same story and we were all devastated by the DNA results. If we all had heard the same story all these years, if our relatives were given grief in school because they were Indians, where was the Indian?

Dance With Destiny is my answer to all these questions. Whether it's right or not is anyone's guess, but at least it is an answer. I hope you enjoy getting to know my family.