Elaine Marie Cooper Author

Historical Fiction That Grabs Your Heart and Feeds Your Soul

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Thank you to my Friends

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I’m often reminded of the blessings of friends. This year with my leg in a cast for 3 months, my husband unable to drive due to a previous stroke, and a new book releasing, friends have become an even brighter light in my life. From taking me to doctor appointments, to taking me out for a meal, to helping me promote my book, so many have pitched in and said, “I can help.”

I sometimes remember the quote from “It’s a Wonderful Life.” Clarence the Angel reminds George, the man who has dealt with one struggle after another and wants to give up on life, that “no man is a failure who has friends.” I have never understood those words more than I have this year. The more difficulties I have faced, the more the Lord has provided friends to help meet my needs. Praise God!

I’m the kind of person who loves to be a giver. I am a retired nurse and helping others seems to come naturally. Being on the receiving end is humbling and I’m learning to have a meek spirit and accept other’s kindness. It’s not always easy for me, but God is teaching my “take-charge” personality to be still and submit to the situation. It has allowed my wonderful friends to shine.

As Jesus said in Matthew 5:16, “let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.” By allowing my friends to help me, they are doing good works that shine with the love of the Lord; that allows them the gift of receiving a blessing.

I’m so grateful that God is blessing them, although I admit, I’d still rather be on the giving end. 😉

But in this month of Thanksgiving, I am so very grateful for my many friends who shine with the love of Jesus. According to Clarence, I guess I am not a failure. I know my friends certainly are not.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Scarred Vessels released on October 20, 2020 and is available on Amazon in kindle or paperback.

Here is the Back cover blurb:

In 1778 Rhode Island, the American Revolution rallies the Patriots to fight for freedom. But the slavery of black men and women from Africa, bartered for rum, is a travesty that many in America cannot ignore. The seeds of abolition are planted even as the laws allowing slavery in the north still exist.

Lydia Saunders, the daughter of a slave ship owner, grew up with the horror of slavery. It became more of a nightmare when, at a young age, she is confronted with the truth about her father’s occupation. She is burdened with the guilt of her family’s sin, as she struggles to make a difference in whatever way she can. When she loses her husband in the battle for freedom from England, she makes a difficult decision that will change her life forever.

Sergeant Micah Hughes is too dedicated to serving the fledgling country of America to consider falling in love. When he carries the tragic news to Lydia Saunders about her husband’s death, he is appalled by his attraction to the young widow. Micah wrestles with his feelings for Lydia while he tries to focus on helping the cause of freedom. He trains a group of former slaves to become capable soldiers on the battlefield.

Tensions both on the battlefield and on the home front bring hardship and turmoil that threaten to endanger them all. When Lydia and Micah are faced with saving the life of a black infant in danger, can they survive this turning point in their lives?

Love’s Kindling—Selah Award Finalist!

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Dear friends, It may seem as if I’ve been AWOL from my website but, in fact, I’ve been having work done on it to get it updated. Thank you, Angie Hammond at Pixel Dust!!

The update is just in time to announce something unexpected and exciting: My most recent historical romance, Love’s Kindling, is a Finalist in the prestigious Selah Awards.

Unexpected because it took awhile to see Love’s Kindling published. It was rejected by more than one publisher and I began to think no one cared about the love story between my characters, Zadok and Aurinda. But I was wrong. The manuscript was published by Burnett Young publishing, has received excellent reviews (thank you reviewers!!), and is now an award finalist. All I can say is, praise the Lord!

Thank you to my publisher Meaghan Burnett, my author care rep Jessie Anderson, and my editor Alycia Morales. You encouraged me along the way and I am grateful.

Thanks to Eva Marie Everson and the judges who deemed it worthy of being a finalist. I am truly grateful.

Mostly I thank all of my readers who have followed my books through the years. I count you all as precious and pray I can continue bringing you stories worthy of your interest. May the Lord bless you.

What We Do For Love

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As an author of Christian historical romance, I love a good love story. Ever since I watched “Old Yeller” as a preschooler and the parents hugged and kissed when reuniting, I became enthralled with the thrill of not just a sweet embrace, but the commitment and love behind that affection.

Through the years, I’ve cried and sighed, watching and/or reading love stories. Some have been tragic, some with happily-ever-afters. All involved commitment to the one true love, through thick and thin, good times and sad. That commitment extended to the next generation born and the next.

As I grew older and made a personal relationship with Christ, I realized that element of commitment comes from God. He loved us so much He sent His Son to die for us. There is no greater love story than that.

The commitment to loved ones is what drew my husband and I to relocate nearly 2,000 miles to be close to our son and his family. Distance causes too much pain, too many lost opportunities.

All of this work was supported by wonderful friends in Iowa who helped us in so many ways. When I had no energy left, our friends sustained us and pitched in, in numerous ways.

Despite the work and aching muscles, we donated many items and trashed others, whittling down our worldly goods into a cubicle and a car-full. At times, we were overcome with exhaustion from it all. At times, we still are.

Like Moses’ trusted friends, Aaron and Hur in Exodus 17:12, our friends helped strengthen us for the daunting task. We will never forget their faithfulness.

Upon arrival, our son and his friend helped us unload. It’s amazing the strength of the young! We are so grateful for everyone’s commitment to us. Commitment based in love.

The love of friends. The love of family. The love that brings a husband home to kiss his wife and be welcomed by her embrace.

This is the core of a love story. The love that carries on to the next generations.

The Day the First Americans Died for their Country

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When I was a child, I walked by the Jason Russell House on my way to school in Arlington, Massachusetts. Looking at the empty two-story dwelling, I somehow could feel its history—and its fear.

“There’s still blood on the floor in there,” my brother had told me.

Blood? I quivered at the thought.

I felt as vulnerable as Scout in “To Kill a Mockingbird” when her brother and Dill, the curious friend visiting from out of town, discussed Boo Radley, a mentally-challenged neighbor that they feared.

I viewed that dwelling in a whole new light when I learned that people had died there in the American Revolution.

The story of my hometown of Arlington is often swallowed up in the historical accounts of the Revolution. The focus has always been on the “shot heard round the world” and the initial battles in Lexington and Concord on April 19, 1775.

And though my brother/sister conversation gave me the creeps, it also instilled in me a fascination for the war that birthed our nation. History had come alive for me while on my way to the classroom.

One of the reasons that Arlington has not received as much acknowledgement on that first day of the war was that it went by a different name in 1775. It was known as Menotomy, from an Indian word for “swift running water.”

Situated between Boston and Concord, Menotomy Village was actually called “the bloodiest half mile of all the battle road.” More redcoats and patriots were killed or wounded there on April 19 than in all the other towns combined. This occurred when the British troops were marching back to Boston after the skirmishes at Lexington and Concord.

The Jason Russell House stands as a living memorial to those who died there that day.

Russell was a 59-year-old farmer, loyal to the cause of freedom. He owned a large farm—120 acres—right on Concord Road, the path upon which the British troops journeyed. Prior to the battles, Paul Revere and William Dawes both rode by Russell’s house on their way to warn the Minutemen.

When the Redcoats retreated from Lexington, word reached the villagers in Menotomy that the enemy was coming. Russell sent his wife and children to a neighbors’ house for safety.

It became a brutal battle.

A group of rebel Americans running from the British regulars sought refuge in Russell’s house where they could make a stand against the Redcoats. Russell, who had a lame foot, was the last to reach his doorway and was wounded by British bullets. He was bayoneted numerous times. Several other Americans were wounded.

Eight survivors ran into the cellar and shot and killed the first two regulars to come after them. The battle went on, to the Russell orchard and beyond.

In Victor Brooks’ The Boston Campaign April 1775 to March 1776, he describes the horrible scene:

“The ‘battle of Menotomy’ became the most brutal engagement of the day as house-to-house and room-to-room fighting resulted in Regulars and militiamen clubbing and bayoneting one another, pistols flashing, men swinging tomahawks and hunting knives and dozens of casualties on each side.”

Wow. No wonder my brother claimed there was still blood on the floor of the Jason Russell house. Even if it was not still visible, surely the floorboards echoed the carnage.

There still are several holes from musket balls visible in the house today.

Jason Russell was buried nearby his home, in the Old Burying Ground. His inscription reads:

“Jason Russell was barbarously murdered in his own house by Gage’s bloody troops on the 19th of April, 1775. Age 59. His body is quietly resting in this grave with eleven of our friends who in like manner with many others were cruelly slain on that fateful day. Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord.”

In 1923, the Jason Russell house on the corner of Jason St. and Massachusetts Avenue was acquired by the Arlington Historical Society and restored. In 1974, it was added to the National Registry of Historic Places. Tours of the home are still given and a museum has been added.

My novel, Fields of the Fatherless, depicts the story of Jason Russell and the events of April 19, 1775. It is available at Amazon and other book outlets. You can purchase it here