Thanks to Bonnie and Coffee Time. I’ve truly, truly enjoyed my time blogging with you!

SET UP:  Accompanied by her younger sister Anna, Elizabeth is on the streetcar on the way to her home in East Boston when she sees Paolo. She remembers he is the man who stood by her when the ghost of her husband, a casualty of WWII, came to say goodbye. 

Excerpt from Chapter one of The Passenger ~

The smell of frankfurters from a roadside stand carried in on the still August air, reminding Elizabeth of the five-cent frank she’d shared earlier with her sister. Like most things she ate nowadays, it sat like a rock in the pit of her stomach. 

With a sigh, she leaned forward to see what Anna was working on. The girl always had pencil and paper handy, and Elizabeth envied how her sister could find the beauty in ordinary things. 

Now with adroit, delicate gestures of charcoal, Anna transformed the white paper into a wrinkled, weathered face, unshaven and sad. Yet, the eyes were kind, seeming on the edge of a smile. 

Elizabeth shifted her attention to the seat across the aisle, and her breath caught. Her sister’s subject was the man who stood by her on the beach the day of her dead husband’s visit. The man had kept her company while she dried her tears, but he’d said little. He just continued to stand looking out at the horizon as if also watching for someone to arrive. She’d felt they were kindred spirits in that way and thought of him often though she hadn’t seen him again. 

A steady stream of hot air blew in through the trolley’s open windows and whipped through his hair. The dull gray locks, peppered throughout with streaks of blue black, fluttered in a mess around his head. The man gave several wheezing breaths and mopped his sweaty brow with the back of a black, tattered, coat sleeve. 

Elizabeth gathered her arms close around her chest, fighting the bizarre chill that only seemed to grow colder. As if it gathered from the old man’s body and fed into hers. 

How could that be? 

Her heartbeat quickened as she leaned forward to look at Anna’s drawing again. If the man were dead, her sister wouldn’t be able to see him. 

She bit her lower lip and slumped back against the seat. 

Lord, but how odd. 

Not to mention disconcerting. All the signs were there. Her pensive mood, sitting still was outright painful, and the hairs spiking on her arms and back. All as if this man needed her help to pass from this world to the next. Of course, she’d ignored the dead for so long, letting eleven years pass before lowering her guard and opening herself for one special person. 

She shook her head and roughly rubbed at her arms. It could be she was misinterpreting her neophyte reactions. Surely, she wasn’t feeling this man. 

Still, I should speak to him. After all, he’d been kind to her. Perhaps he didn’t recognize her. She’d changed over the months. Each time she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she saw that her round face had thinned, and her eyes had dulled. She appeared gaunt, as if a ghost peered back at her from behind the glass. 

Not wanting to stare, she glanced above his head to the advertisement for brandy. It reminded her to drink conservatively just as he gave a sputtered, wheezing breath. 

“Excuse me, Sir?” Elizabeth leaned into the aisle toward him. “Are you all right?” 

Turning slowly in his seat, he offered her a weak smile. His face was fatigued with dark shadows beneath each eye. “Si…si,” he answered and exhaled. “I am fine.” 

“Beth, what are you doing?” Anna asked. 

Elizabeth glanced at her sister, inclined her head slightly toward the old man, and whispered, “Speaking to my friend.” 

A few minutes later, the streetcar screeched to a stop. Several passengers exited. The man stood on tenuous legs, then grabbed the seat in front of him, and stumbled forward. 

The poor man. She hated to see him struggling and doubted he would make it far on his own. Elizabeth rose from her seat. 

“Anna, I’m getting off here.” She rushed to aid him and asked, “Do you need help?” 

“That is so kind, Signorina, but I do not want to put you to trouble.” 

“It’s no trouble.” She gently took his elbow. Numbing electricity shot into her fingers, and biting back a gasp, she snatched them away. Easy, Elizabeth. He’s just a sick old man. Nothing to be frightened of.  “I…I would be happy to escort you.” She peeked over her shoulder at Anna who had gathered her belongings and stood waiting to follow behind them. With a deep breath, Elizabeth touched his elbow again. 

“Grazie, Bella, grazie,” the man said and patted her hand with his clammy fingers.

©2007 Joie Lesin

Like you mentioned, Bonnie, I’ve also had times where I feel a sense of unease. Like there’s an ill wind blowing – y’know? Then ended up receiving unexpected bad news. So, I guess, I could say yes, I think I may have inherited a bit of what my mother has. 

When I mentioned to my mother what I was blogging about, she reminded me of something interesting. It seems there’s a family link. Well, at least I have a late cousin on my mother’s side who worked as a professional psychic. I had never met her but do remember hearing about it when I was growing up. 

Elizabeth from The Passenger inherited the gift from her mother. But where her mother receives messages in the form of emotions, Elizabeth experiences something much more in your face. Now if I had to deal with anything like she does… well, that takes a strong constitution. Could you imagine the dead appearing to you as if still alive? In the condition they were in at the time of death? 

I’d say “no, thank you” as Elizabeth once did. As a child, the visits in the night frightened her to the point that she begged her mother to help her block them out. There’s an excerpt on my website that never made it into the final draft of the story. I won’t post it here but invite readers to visit my “Bookshelf” to find out what prompted Elizabeth to open up to the ghosts again. Here’s a direct link:  http://www.joielesin.com/passenger2.html 

I’ll be back a little later to post the excerpt I promised earlier – you’ll find out how Elizabeth and Paolo’s friendship began. 

Later! 

There’s a nice breeze. All the windows in the house are open and there’s no AC humming in the background. I love it when I can hear the outside sounds. Okay, I’m a city girl so that includes the sound of tires over the road, the electric hum of utility wires, people on their walks in conversation, loud mouth barking dogs – including mine who thinks he owns this stretch of sidewalk. Don’t even think of walking anywhere he can see you. Excuse me while I use his fullname and order him down from the window. Not working - have to go pull him down and threaten a time out. There – works everytime. But I digress…

So, fresh air’s my thing. The sky is pure blue. From where I sit I don’t see a cloud in sight. The leaves on the trees are still a vivid green and I’m okay with that. I love summer when it’s like this.

Simply beautiful.

I have to leave for a moment but I’ll be back to do more than reflect on the day.

BTW, Bonnie you asked some great questions. You’re making me think!

And you want more, do you? What do you think of reading the excerpt to show just how the friendship between Elizabeth and Paolo began? I’m thinking I might just post it later today.

I’ll see you in just a bit!

Joie 

Who was I to think I ran the story? 

It’s true. I envisioned Paolo – when I was sixteen – on the city bus on the way home from an after school activity. That afternoon I noticed a man who looked a little worse for wear and quickly made up a history for him.  

I decided he was alone in the world, having lost his family years before. Then I started with the “what ifs.” What if he died there on the bus? Would anyone help him? I put a young woman (Elizabeth) there willing to help him. I knew her kindness to him at his death would only be the beginning of a lasting friendship. 

Those were the seeds for the story… and it all began with envisioning Paolo. Of course, the bus became a streetcar but that’s another topic, perhaps. 

See you tomorrow! 

I haven’t had enough coffee yet…so…I’m glad I promised to post an excerpt this morning. 

Here it is. The excerpt when Gio and Elizabeth from The Passenger first meet.

~*~*~ 

Upon lowering her gaze, she saw a black pickup truck pull up on the street in front of her. A tall, suntanned man stepped out. He slammed the truck door shut, and a long wisp of black hair fell out of the leather strap that held it back. 

When he faced her, her heart shuddered. 

Paolo shot to his feet and trembled where he stood. 

The man approached, walking with a slight falter. 

Elizabeth’s limbs went numb, and she gathered all her strength to keep from sliding off the bench into the dirt or from reaching for Paolo’s hand. She uncrossed her legs, planted her black shoes firmly on the ground, and stood as well. She tightened her grip on the leather handle of her bag. 

“Elizabeth Reilly?” The man’s voice, though attractive, lacked the charm of Paolo’s accent. He’d either been born in America or immigrated at a very young age. 

“Yes, that’s me.” Trying not to glance at Paolo, she held out her unsteady hand to the man who now stood in front of her. 

Ignoring it, he asked, “So you’re a friend of Paolo Clemente?” 

“Yes,” she said. “We knew each other in Boston. B … before he died.” She fisted her hand and then lowered it. Lying wasn’t going to be so easy. 

She wished Paolo would say something. At least mention who this man might be. Of all the times to be quiet, the ghost had to pick now. 

The stranger raised his eyebrow and asked, “Did you tell Marco he died recently?” 

She gulped. “Yes … unfortunately.” 

“Unfortunately?” He glanced at her single bag. “Is that all you have?” 

“What do you mean?” She looked down to hide her heat-flushed cheeks. 

“Clothing. Do all your things fit in that small bag?” 

Were all the Clementes so condescending? No wonder Paolo had agreed to leave Italy. She gazed up into the stranger’s striking coffee-colored eyes. “No. My things are unpacked in my room.” 

He turned and motioned to the inn’s door. “Let’s get them then.” 

“Excuse me?” she asked. 

“Shall we get your clothes? Pack them in your suitcase? My father’s been missing for over thirty years.” 

He walked away from her and headed toward the front door. “I don’t plan to drive back and forth into town so that you can tell me where the hell he’s been.” 

Elizabeth turned toward Paolo then. His face blanched stark white. “Paolo?” she mouthed and reached for him. He backed away, shaking his head, and then releasing a hoarse groan, he vanished. 

Don’t go, she wanted to scream but instead turned and hurried after the stranger. She needed answers. 

“Your father?” Elizabeth asked. All warmth left her face as she reined up beside him. “I’m sorry. Who are you?” 

He froze. “Giovanni Clemente,” he said clearly. 

Elizabeth’s heart stopped. Giovanni? I thought he was dead. My Lord, Paolo, you told me your son died. “No, you can’t be Giovanni.” 

“Well, I am.” His face went blank as he stared at her. “Why would I lie about that?” 

This can’t be. She stumbled forward into him and dropped her bag to the ground. 

“Miss Reilly, are you okay?” He caught her elbow and steadied her, then glanced down at his hand and pulled it away. 

Elizabeth backed away from him in two swift steps, trying to make sense of this turn in events. Her heartbeat returned to a rapid thumping. Heat swirled into her belly. “I just need to sit, I think.” 

“You’ll have some time to sit once we get your things,” he said and cleared his throat. “The ride to the vineyard will take us half an hour.”

©2007 Joie Lesin

Of course, there are times I’m just in the mood for a good love story. Make it something that when I close the book I sigh and feel good those two are finally together. 

With romance, I move around the genre frequently but give me a good historical and add a dash or more of the paranormal and I’m in reading bliss. But then I can’t resist a good fantasy either. Among my favorite are the Symphony of Ages series by Elizabeth Haydon and The Wayfarer Redemption series by Sara Douglass. 

As of right now, I’m reading two books. I’ve just started reading Daughter of the Forest by Juliet Marillier and plan on moving onto the next books in the Sevenwaters Trilogy shortly thereafter. I also just picked up a copy of Wired by Liz Maverick and decided to juggle two books at once. I like to be adventurous I guess. 

Bottom-line, though, is just give me a good story – no matter the genre – and I’ll read it. 

I do seem to always appreciate a romantic element in the books I read and it’s a must in what I write. Romance and conflict just go hand-in-hand. Like you said it gives a reader someone to root for. 

In The Passenger, Giovanni (Gio) and Elizabeth certainly have both romance, conflict and their own inner-struggles to deal with. 

She’s arrived in Cana, California to bring news of his father Paolo’s death. Gio doesn’t want to hear any of it but because of his frustrating attraction to her, he’s keeping her around. 

Gio’s a headstrong man but he’s met his match in the strange woman from Boston. 

The Passenger takes place in 1945. It felt right to write it in a way that pays homage to the old movies I love. The story builds up the tension but the lovemaking takes place behind closed doors. 

Tomorrow I’ll post an introduction to both Elizabeth and Gio. When they first meet might be nice, I’m thinking. 

Until then, have a great night!

Enough about that…

So, Bonnie, you had some great questions. I’ll tackle the first and come back later for the rest. 

First, it’s not hard for me to write my books about ghosts. When I write my stories, it’s purely from my imagination. I like to think of it as that piece of childhood that I still hold onto. And in actuality, I have a hard time keeping ghosts out of my story. 

That isn’t to say that my stories aren’t based in a belief in them. One of things I’ve found when I tell people about my stories is how many people have had an experience or know someone who has. 

More close to home, however, is my mother. For years, she’s had experiences sensing or feeling things but never developed the ability. However, it’s something she’s working to learn more about. 

One of the things about my mother is that a caul (or face veil) was removed from her at birth. And true to the folklore about it, she often knows things about a person before they announce it - such as which couple is about to marry or just pregnant with a child. I grew up experiencing this with her and just accepted such things as a fact of life.

I just believe there’s a whole world of possibilities out there. You just never know what you might learn or see.

Time to run for a bit, but I’ll be back later to talk about the romance in my stories. 

If you’ve been to my website or signed up for my newsletter, you’ve seen this excerpt before. I debated on whether to post it again but as I searched and contemplated what the best way to introduce him would be, I kept coming back to this excerpt.

Now when we first meet Paolo in The Passenger, it’s 1945. He’s a battered old man. His jacket tattered at the elbows and cuffs. His hair dulled from need of a wash. His nose set at slant as if it had once been broken. He’s lived decades without his wife and son. He’s a man very much down on his luck but despite it all, the heart of the man we meet in this excerpt still exists inside of him.

And there’s not a better way to first lay eyes on him than through the memory of the woman who fell in love with at first sight.

In 1909, Paolo Clemente is a young man with his whole life set before him…

 ~*~*~*~

…Adriana was eighteen again, unmarried and back in Italy. The sun flamed bright on the Clemente vineyard. She watched the married women as they laughed and stomped barefoot in the season’s first harvested grapes. They held their long skirts up to their thighs, while the men, children and unwed women stood around and cheered them on.

Lorenzo Clemente stood to the side watching her. They were not allowed to speak in private and were always under the guard of her aunt’s hawk-like eyes. She stole a sideways glance at him and smiled. He was a gallant and comely man. His dark features rested well on his large frame. She could be content married to him. Any woman would do well to catch one of the Clemente heirs. If her father and his had their way, she’d be married to him within the year.

If her aunt was correct, she would learn to love him.

She inched away from her aunt. If only the old prude would have joined in the crush, she would have been set free.

“Where is she, little brother?” A man locked his arms around Lorenzo’s waist and lifted him off the ground.

“Put me down, Paolo,” Lorenzo said between his teeth. He laughed and broke from his brother’s grip when his feet hit the ground. “You’re the last person I would tell.” He grinned, yanking his buttoned down shirt straight. “A man would heed well to lock his woman in when you’re around.”

“Ah, that is why I use the element of surprise.”

Adriana edged closer. This new arrival interested her. This was the oldest of the three brothers—the one she’d been warned to avoid. He was one to ruin a woman’s virtue. Was that why no bride had been sought out for him? Just look at him. He was not a small man by any means, but he was built of lean lines and sinewy muscle—not at all like Lorenzo or the youngest brother Michael. Paolo’s features were sharper. He was an aristocrat made for Roman society, not to be the don of a country vineyard. What woman would not beat down the door for a chance at him?

“Adriana, come back here,” her aunt ordered.

Never one to do as she was told, she approached the men, taking several sideway steps, stopping to catch sight of Signora Clemente marching like a young girl in the grapes. All other times Adriana had seen her, the petite woman was soft spoken and reserved. It amazed her to see this frivolous side to the mistress of the vineyard. Adriana ran her hand along the table set with covered plates of food. It was a feast for the daylong harvest celebration. If her aunt thought she bided her time, waiting for refreshments, perhaps she could sneak away…

“Now this must be Adriana.”

She turned toward the brothers and her breath caught. Paolo leaned casually on Lorenzo’s shoulder. He wore a mischievous, lopsided grin. She had never found a man so…so appealing. “She is much too beautiful for you.” Paolo’s eyes didn’t leave her face.

Too young to have the sense to blush, she smiled at him. “And you, Signore, are much too bold to pay such compliments to a woman promised to another.” Adriana had always known what was meant to be hers at a first glance. The oldest of the Clemente brothers had been born for her. She would no longer be content to marry the middle brother.

©2007 Joie Lesin

So – it’s been a very busy morning. I was up before the sun. Believe me – I don’t like waking up when it’s still dark. But it’s my son’s first day of football practice. Yes, football. Summer seems to be drawing to a close despite the 90 degrees we’re supposed to reach later today. Oh, and then in a bit my daughter has a sports camp.

A very busy day indeed.

As Bonnie mentioned, I’ve been a storyteller all my life. Before I could record my stories, my vivid imagination produced an active network of imaginary friends. However, as soon as I could put pencil to paper those “friends” became my characters. One of my earliest stories I remember was a fantasy that took place in another world where dogs could talk. What a world that was too.

In my junior high days, I did take a break from fantasy to write stories similar to what I was reading at the time. Does anyone remember Sooner or Later? I date myself with that statement, don’t I? Hmm… I guess you could say that’s where the romance comes into my writing.

However, soon I returned to the paranormal. I can’t remember exactly when my fascination with ghosts began. I was an avid reader so I’m sure one of the many, many books I read included something that piqued my interest. I went on to explore all of the haunted places throughout the world through reading.

When I was sixteen, the idea for the story that would become my first book, The Passenger, came to me. It all began with Paolo, the story’s ghost.

It’s time for me to run but I’ll return later and introduce you to Paolo.