This is from a story that is still mulling around in my head. Hoping to be able to present it to my editor–after I finish the first series. It is an excerpt from the middle of a prologue, so may seem incomplete.
November 15, 1837
Leeza lay against the pillows, only vaguely aware of Granny’s ministrations to her. A boy. At last she had given Samuel a boy, and the child already sounded as angry as the storm that continued to rage. Through a haze of exhaustion she witnessed her husband enter the cabin and shake the rain from his hat before hanging it on the pegs by the stove.
“I hurried, Leeza, but the storm was faster.” He knelt beside her bed, and his big hand caressed her tangled hair away from her face, then he leaned close enough to brush her mouth with his lips.
“Did you want to be a lookin’ at your son, Samuel Dey?” She moved the tiny bundle in her arms so he could better take a long gander.
Leeza swallowed against the swell of emotion at her husband’s voice―more like a soft-breathed prayer than a question. Her fingers rasped against his whiskery face and she met his tear-filled gaze with her own.
“You did right fine, Leeza woman.”
She nodded. Would she ever lose the wonder of givin’ pleasure to this man?
The babe kicked one red, down-covered wrinkled leg through the coarse flannel that swaddled him, like he was already wantin’ to punch through anything what might want to reign him in. Samuel rubbed the tiny splayed toes against his chin, then grinned when the toes curled against his face.
“What ya figger to call him?” He kissed the bottom of the small foot.
“Gonna call him Stormy. You think that be silly? I was a layin’ here a watchin’ them trees almost bend in two out there, and them clouds were roiling like I never seed before. It’s a wonder this cabin didn’t buckle jist from the weight of the thunder alone. And this boy of yours, well he was fightin’ jist as hard. Seems like a fittin’ name, if it be settlin’ right with you.”
“Stormy Dey.” He grinned. That be right fine with me.” He stroked the mop of black hair that already hung to the babe’s ears.
Granny Hodges frowned as she bent to re-swaddle the child to her satisfaction, then straightened and shook her finger at the two. “Mark my words—you’ll rue the day you ever did give him sich a name. Ain’t never been a Dey man named after anythin’ but the Bible, and ever last one of ’em have been true lastin’ followers of God. Never heered the like—Stormy.”
She clicked her tongue. “Mark my words…