Guest Author: Janet Dean

Helen here. I first met Janet many, many years ago at one of RWA's national conferences. I was standing in line waiting to get a book autographed by Susan Elizabeth Phillips when I started having one of my typical conference meltdown moments. Janet, a stranger at the time, turned around, hugged me, and the rest is history!

Back then, we were both unpublished. We both subsequently finalled in the Golden Heart and sold our first books, and I couldn't be happier to have Janet come and visit today as her first book hits the shelves.

My debut novel, Courting Miss Adelaide, Steeple Hill Love Inspired Historical, is on the shelves. Naturally I’m flying high, though not as high as you gals tumbling out of the back of that convertible. ;-) It took nine years to sell a book, then two more to see Courting Miss Adelaide in print so I’m savoring the moment.

The kernel for Adelaide’s story came from a newspaper clipping my father sent me about the placing out of New York City’s immigrant children. It triggered my “what if” moment—what if a lonely spinster wanted a child and saw the “orphan train” as her last chance for motherhood? From that moment on, life for Adelaide changes forever.

I find the history behind the “orphan train” fascinating. Between the years of 1853 and 1929, more than 250,000 orphans or half orphans rode trains from New Your City to new homes in the Midwest and beyond. What an amazing adjustment for these immigrant children, and for the people who took them in!

We history lovers tend to glamorize the “good ole days.” I’ve learned it’s far easier to travel into the past sitting at my computer or reading a wonderful book, than facing the rigors of the trail or the restrictions 19th Century society placed on women. Countless men and women met the challenge of their times. Their courage so impresses me that I want to write books that keep their achievements alive in our hearts.

But that doesn’t mean I’d want to live back then. I value modern conveniences, the ease of communication and especially of travel. We’ve all experienced canceled flights or construction tie-ups, but compared to the day when horses were the chief mode of transportation, we’ve got it made. My heroine is afraid of horses. To be honest, I prefer viewing them from afar. Adelaide had her reasons and I have mine.

My close encounter with horses goes back to my Middle School years when a friend invited me to go for a ride one spring afternoon. This would be my first time in the saddle. My excitement was tempered by a mild sense of foreboding, but Black Beauty had been one of my favorite childhood books and I loved TV cowboys and their four-legged friends. This would be fun!

My friend, Sara started with the basics, showing me how to saddle a horse, and then stood back while I tried. Just getting that heavy contraption on the mare’s back proved challenging. When I tried to tighten the cinch, the horse puffed out her sides. Sara shoved the heel of her hand into the mare’s side and her belly shrank before my eyes. Who knew a horse could be so devious as to plot to dump me, saddle and all? My sense of adventure sagged, but I was no quitter.

Sara showed me how to mount, then added one final bit of advice, “Let the horse know who is boss.” I knew full well that the horse and I both understood who was in charge. And it wasn’t me. But I’d have rather eaten grasshoppers than admit that truth. We headed out. Did I mention my horse wasn’t crazy about this little outing? She kept trying to turn back, evidently eager to return to the barn on this sunny, blustery day. We’d only gone a few yards when she decided she’d had enough. She left the road, climbed the concrete steps set into a grassy bank and crossed the neighbor’s front yard, ignoring my efforts to rein her in. When I finally got the horse stopped, her head hung over a barbed wire fence and my friend was screaming like a maniac. Or perhaps that was me. What happened was, and still is, a blur.

Obviously shaken and scared for her horse, Sara suggested we trade mounts. Red-faced, I clambered aboard the larger second horse as Sara reminded me to show the animal who was boss. Perhaps my memory is faulty, but I think that mare flashed me a smile. Thankfully, we arrived at our destination, our girlfriend Sandy’s house, without further mishap. I should mention here that Sandy lived near a small rural airport. The three of us had a chat and some refreshments before heading back. I’d just settled into the saddle of the larger horse when a low flying plane zoomed toward the runway. The horse reared on its hind legs, exactly like in the movies, except I’m no stunt rider. By some miracle I hung on.

This maneuver would’ve looked great in a show ring but didn’t do much for Sara. She suggested we trade horses again. I figured after almost hanging herself in barbed wire, the mare would behave on the trip home. And she did. I actually enjoyed myself, feeling like a horsewoman at last. Not far from Sara’s house, a paper bag blew across the road. My horse took off like a shot—

In hindsight, I realize I’m quite the horsewoman to have kept my seat that day. Though I didn’t appreciate the mishaps at the time, the experience helped me write a scene in Courting Miss Adelaide.

Anyone care to share a riding story? Horse, llama, camel, I’d love to hear your escapades. Especially if they don’t make me feel I’m the only one failing in the equestrian department.

Janet

Janet is giving away an autographed copy of Courting Miss Adelaide to one lucky commentor, so stop by tomorrow and we'll post the winner.