A House of Peace

A Young Adult Novel

Emmy Forrester is a shy, quiet bookworm. Beautiful, vibrant, irrepressible Christelle du Lac, a Hurricane Katrina refugee from New Orleans, has just moved in down the street. Christelle is drawn to the peace and orderliness that prevail in Emmy’s home, and Emmy and her friends learn to discover and embrace their own gifts through Christelle’s charismatic personality. Emmy learns to see the world through new eyes, growing in understanding and empathy, gaining new confidence in herself, and finding wonder and joy in the things she discovers along the way. Not to mention cook! 

Mark, a wholesome, intelligent, upright boy, has been friends with Emmy since first grade. Now that they’re in their teens, he’s beginning to think of her as something more than a friend. Leo, a football player, really digs Christelle, who’s getting more and more interested in him. But she has a sinister follower, whom she calls “the Rougarou”–her former stepbrother, Wyatt. He threatens to turn Emmy’s “house of peace” upside down and shatter her newfound confidence and delight in the world around her.

Until one fatal night when everything breaks loose…will things ever be the same again?

Excerpts:

A tiger in my sock drawer…..or is it a spider?

I’m holding a bracelet that belongs to my best friend, who is not likely ever to see it again. I’ll never wear it, but I can’t throw it away, or give it away, or sell it, even if she was to tell me I can have it. It has eleven golden-brown stones—tiger-eye. Christelle once joked that it was what I’d look like if I were a spider, my eyes being the same color as the stones. The clasp is the kind that comes undone easily. I can’t bring myself to take it back to its owner, because I can’t go near her house even though it’s only a block away. She probably doesn’t miss it anyway. I’m sure as can be that it’s the last thing on her mind right now.

   I start to lay it in my jewel box, then hesitate as though I think this bracelet will somehow poison the other things in the box. But what to do with it? It’s like a curse. I can’t keep it and I can’t get rid of it. Finally I lay it in my top drawer underneath my socks and underwear. Then close it quickly as though I’m afraid the bracelet will jump out.

   Who would have thought a little piece of costume jewelry could change a person’s life so completely?

****

We ended up baking some pecan cookies, then went outside with them and Cokes to the back yard. There was a balance beam set up and Colette got up on that and did some cartwheels and handsprings and splits on it. Christelle did it too, and more: she danced on that beam, and was dazzling. They asked me if I wanted to try but I said I’d just watch. Then Colette got one of those big plastic paint buckets, turned it upside down, and started beating on it with her hands like a conga drum, and Christelle danced all over the smooth concrete carport. Colette was really good on the “drum.” I asked if I could have a turn with it, and Christelle and Colette danced together. They danced around each other, and one time Christelle picked up Colette by the waist and lifted her high in the air and spun her around, with Colette’s left foot on her knee, then Colette pushed off and leaped into the air and landed with bent knees, spun around on her behind, then sprang up and twirled in the air. I wished I’d had my phone ready to record it all, but it hadn’t occurred to me, and maybe it wouldn’t have been a good idea to do so anyway. It might have taken some of the spontaneity out of their dance. Still it would have been a beautiful film, the two sisters dancing with a backdrop of lush flowers and bushes, wind chimes hanging from the deck roof dinging in the light breeze, the two cats perched on the patio rail coolly watching. The girl cat was named Queenie, short for Queen of the Universe And Don’t You Forget It. She was a white ragdoll with pale grey patches and sky-blue eyes. The tom was Captain Fuzzball von Pussypants, a.k.a. Cappy, and sometimes Ooey Gooey Purry Boots. He was a huge ginger tabby with white feet, a sweet disposition, and a fondness for sitting in flowerpots, the smaller the better.

   We wove flower wreaths and took pictures of us wearing them and posted them online. Such beautifulness there was that day—yes, “beautifulness,” that was the exact word. “Beauty” didn’t half convey the meaning so well.

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