Nella

A Fantasy Novel

When Joe Tate was a child, in Depression-era Missouri, a mysterious young girl came to stay with him and his family on their farm. There was something strange and wonderful about Nella that drew people to her. She made life lovely for little Joey and his brothers and parents.

There was much to like about Nella. Her beauty, her intelligence, her kindness and good manners, her enigmatic charm….

  But who was she? Where did she come from? And WHAT was she? What would people do if her secret got out? Was she even real?

Excerpt:

One day Mama called us to her and told us we were having a visitor, a “cousin” we’d never met. Yes, Aunt Marion had come to visit a few times back when I was a baby, but I didn’t remember her at all, and she didn’t bring Nella along, but left her and little Harald in the care of Mrs. Sanchez and Nanny Lucinda.

   “Your aunt isn’t well,” Mama told us, “and so Nella is going to stay with us for as long as it takes her to get better. She’s at St. Vincent’s Sanitarium for a spell.”

   “What’s a sanitarium?” Jim asked. He was the brother closest in age, just three years older than me.

   “The loony bin,” Jerry said. Mama gave him that look that meant watch your mouth. Jerry was a year younger than Jesse, sandy-haired and freckled like me, pug-nosed and definitely on the chunky side. He had a temper and a big mouth too, and got in plenty of trouble along of it.

   “What’s she like?” Jesse asked. He was the oldest at fifteen, and the handsomest. The only really handsome one of us, far as that goes. Tall, broad in the shoulders, with a mop of chestnut hair that could fall over his forehead in a way that bowled the girls over. And bright blue eyes, cheekbones you could sit on, a chiseled profile, and a complexion rarely invaded by pimple or freckle.

   “I’ve never seen her,” Mama said. “But I’m sure she’s nice to look at.”

   “I bet she’s mighty purty,” Jim said. “Her mama bein’ a movie star and all.”

   “How old is she?” I asked. I was about eight. I hoped she was younger. I was tired of being the “least un,” and wished there could be somebody smaller than myself for a change.

   “Marianne was never sure of her age,” Mama said. “Marianne” was Aunt Marion’s real name. Marianne Messerschmidt. She changed it to “Marion Prevost” when she became an actress. But to Mama, she was always Marianne. “Said she looked to be about three when she first came, but she was probably a year or two older. It’s been ten years since then. She was left on her doorstep and couldn’t even speak, poor little thing. I gotta wonder who’d do a thing like that. Probably some girl that wanted to be a star and didn’t know what else to do with her little one.”

   That was intriguing. We’d heard of people leaving babies on doorsteps. But we’d never actually known of any in our neck of the woods….

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