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Chapter1

Elisabeth

 

“The men are coming now,” Sapphira said in a bright,singsong tone.

Elisabeth’s heart stuttered at thethought of catching Zacharias’s gaze. He would be among the men returning fromthe temple. She secured her white linen mantle closer about her face,preventing the warm summer breeze, fragrant with the scent of the bloomingfields beyond, from tugging strands loose from her plaited hair.

Would Zacharias even look beyond thecluster of men with whom he traveled? He and the men in his family descendedfrom the lineage of Abijah, andtwice a year, the men visited Jerusalem to spend a week serving in the temple. SinceZacharias was not yet thirty, he didn’t perform priest duties, but he stilltraveled with his father during their temple week. Elisabeth’s father, Aaron,was also a priest, descended from Father Aaron.

“I see him,” Sapphira said a littletoo loudly.

“Hush,” Elisabeth said. “I don’t wanthim to know we’re watching.”

Sapphira laughed. At least it was aquiet laugh.

It was all Elisabeth could do to calmher pounding heart and breathe normally as the group of men approached themarket square. She wished she could be more confident like her cousin Sapphira,who was older by three years, already married, and with her first child on theway. They’d spent the past week together painting pottery—jars for water orwine, and lamps for oil and incense.

This morning, they’d arrived early tomarket in order to set up all their wares and—in Sapphira’s estimation—to beearly enough to view the men returning from the temple. She’d estimated right.

A couple of other vendors had arrivedearly as well. Old woman Tabitha had a small fire blazing and was alreadycooking flatbread. She’d have a large stack when the first shoppers appeared.Old man Ezra had his usual cart of embroidered cushions on display. Elisabethsuspected he slept at the market half the time, even though he had someproperty with a small hut on the outskirts of the village.

Her friend Rhoda would surely bearriving soon with her display of clay dolls she made with miniatureembroidered tunics, painted faces, and wheat grass for hair. They wereexcellent toys and sold well, especially to travelers.

Across the square, a travelingmerchant was organizing trinkets in his cart. His oily beard and multiple ringson his fingers glittered in the morning light. The man had been at their marketthe past few days, peddling bracelets, anklets, earrings, and small statues.Some of the statues were idol gods, so Elisabeth had stayed away from his waresaltogether. He was an aggressive seller, and he wasn’t modest about the valueand beauty of the idols. Maybe he thought that, this far away from the templein Jerusalem, he could tempt people to buy more.

Elisabeth hoped he wouldn’t approachher cart and strike up a conversation. His frequent glances their way werealready making her uncomfortable. Sapphira hadn’t seemed to notice, soElisabeth hadn’t mentioned it.

“Perhaps the men will stop for someflatbread,” Sapphira said. “The smell is making me hungry.”

“Me too,” Elisabeth said, althoughshe’d had a decent breakfast of leftover honey cake from last night’s supper thatshe drizzled with a syrup made from sweet figs.

The group of men entered the marketsquare now, leading donkeys laden with bundles of temple tithes, a portion ofwhich was given to the officiating priests. Elisabeth knew the portionsincluded parts of the sacrificed animals and distributions of fruits andgrains. Not all the distributions were kept in each priest’s family, but were givento widows and those in the village who were poor.

 Elisabeth fully expected the group to continuestraight through, immersed in their conversations. Would any of the men stop topurchase flatbread or inspect the traveling merchant’s trinkets? Surely anythingthey’d needed, they’d procured in the Jerusalem markets where the variety wasmuch greater.

Elisabeth took another quick peek atthe travelers, then busied herself with the pottery arrangement. Her familylived a comfortable life due to the extra offerings her father procured on histemple visits, as well as his skills in caring for cattle. So it wasn’t thatElisabeth needed to earn any sort of income, but she was more than happy tohelp out her cousin.

“You arrived quite early,” a womansaid, and Elisabeth looked up to see Rhoda, carrying a basket containing thegoods she’d be selling today.

Rhoda was about Elisabeth’s age,though a handsbreadth taller, and she had narrow-set eyes. Rhoda had a habit ofsquinting a lot, but she was also quick to laugh. Today, she wore a red mantleedged in silver thread and a dark peach tunic. She always wore the brightestcolors, and she didn’t mind the attention it brought.

“We have a lot of pottery to sell,” Sapphirasaid in a voice as flat as sandstone.

Elisabeth wasn’t sure why Sapphiradidn’t like Rhoda. Regardless, Elisabeth stepped forward to embrace her friend.

Rhoda hugged her, then stepped back,her scent of pomegranate oil permeating the air.

Bits of conversation from the groupof men floated across the market square, and Rhoda turned to look at the men.“Oh, the priests are returning today. I’d forgotten about that.”

Sapphira snickered from the otherside of the cart, and Elisabeth smiled. They both knew Rhoda hadn’t forgottenany such thing.

“I suppose you came early to spy uponthe unmarried men.” Rhoda winked.

Elisabeth wasn’t about to admit anythingto Rhoda. Even though she was a friend, the woman couldn’t keep anything inconfidence. The moment Rhoda knew anything, it somehow spread through theentire village.

“Or we have a lot of work todo,” Sapphira cut in for her.

Rhoda ignored the comment. “You know,my mother overheard my father say that Zacharias is very serious about findinga wife this year.”

Elisabeth willed her cheeks to remaincool while she remained quiet.

“Oh, interesting.” Sapphira gave asmall grin. “I think I heard that about Reuben, too.”

“Hmm, perhaps,” Rhoda said with aneasy shrug. “Reuben is of age, and he does have a profession to support afamily, so I suppose he would be a good choice for someone other than me.”

Reuben was a friendly sort and camefrom a long line of herdsmen. There was talk about Reuben setting his sights onRhoda, but she seemed not to care so much for him. Unless she was keeping heroptions open.

“Well,” Rhoda continued, brushing atan invisible speck on her colorful tunic, making her bracelets jangle,“Zacharias and his father will probably stop at your cart when they pass, sinceyour families have been friends for years.” Her dark eyes settled on Elisabeth.“I might not have known him as a boy like you, but he’s an impressive man,don’t you think so?”

Elisabeth wasn’t sure how to answer Rhoda’squestion. Was Rhoda impressed with him, or was she hinting for Elisabethto be impressed with him?

Sapphira cut in again. “Yes,Zacharias is part of a great family.”

Again, Rhoda wrinkled her nose. “Iwouldn’t extend that to his brother, Asher. A bit of a brute, he is.” She smiledprettily. “Tell Zacharias hello for me if he stops. Also, let him know mymother wants to pay his mother a visit in the next few days.”

Elisabeth opened her mouth to answer,to ask why she should be in the middle of a neighborly visit, but Rhoda turnedaway. She skirted the market square until she found the usual place to set upher dolls.

“That woman wants your man,” Sapphirasaid when she was out of earshot.

Elisabeth swung around to look at Sapphira.“He’s not my man. And how do you know Rhoda feels that way aboutZacharias?”

“Did the sun rise this morning?” Sapphiraasked with a laugh. “Rhoda is pining after him, and I’ll bet she’s heard therumors, too, just like me. So she’s baiting you to see what you’ll confess toher.”

Elisabeth didn’t believe in therumors that Sapphira claimed to have heard—that Zacharias intended to ask forher hand in marriage. Regardless, it made her uncomfortable to think about herfriend liking Zacharias in that way . . .

Elisabeth released a breath as sheglanced over at the group of men and their donkeys on the other side of themarket square. It wasn’t like she was nervous to speak to Zacharias, should hehappen past their cart. They’d spoken plenty of times. Not recently, but theirfamilies had been friends since childhood. When he reached the age of twelve,he had spent more time in synagogue learning, and conversations between themhad become rare. Besides, as Elisabeth had reached the age of womanhood, itwasn’t proper to run the hills with a boy who wasn’t her brother, playinggames, tossing rocks into the springs, or searching for crown daisies containingthe most petals.

No, Zacharias was on his way tobecoming a scholar, and Elisabeth spent her hours in preparation for runningher own household and raising her own children someday.

Why Sapphira thought they needed tospy on the man now was due to the fact that Zacharias’s father had approachedElisabeth’s father a fortnight ago with the request to meet with him after harvest.

Because of that request, Sapphira hadpronounced that Zacharias intended to make Elisabeth his betrothed. But ameeting between the two men could be about myriad things—land or flocks or theharvest. Yes, she’d been eligible for a couple of years to marry, but hermother’s—Sarah’s—ill health had kept away a betrothal since she was the onlydaughter still at home left to aid her mother. Now that Mother had been doingmuch better for a few months, perhaps a betrothal was on the horizon.

But Elisabeth didn’t know if shecould fully believe in Sapphira’s predictions, or at least wouldn’t allowherself to hope. Thus, she hadn’t let her mind dwell on what it might be liketo be chosen as a wife by Zacharias. After all, there were several eligible menin Ein Karem, this hillside village that lay west of Jerusalem, and none of thosemen would be terrible choices for a husband.

There was Reuben, of course, who wasrumored to be interested in Rhoda. Another man, James, was a stone worker andquite skilled, with a promising future. He was widowed with a lively three-year-oldson. And finally, there was David, an apprentice blacksmith, who probablywouldn’t seek a wife for another year or two when he had the means to providefor one. He was also among the group of men traveling with Zacharias and hisfather. But it wasn’t David whom Elisabeth hoped to view.

She saw Zacharias then, walking nearthe back of the group, leading a bundle-laden donkey, and all other convolutedthoughts fled. He was in conversation with his father, and their discussionseemed quite animated—but friendly as well. Not an argument, then. It had beenmaybe a year since she’d spoken one-on-one with Zacharias, so every recentobservation had been made from afar.

He’d grown at least a handspan tallerthan his father. His dark hair waved to his shoulders, and he kept his modest beardcropped short like most of the other young men. She knew without standing closeto him that his eyes were deep brown—the color of earth after rain. Just then,his head turned, and his gaze lifted. It took Elisabeth a moment to realize hewas looking right at her, and she was staring back.

Cheeks hotter than boiling water, shelooked down at the clay lamp she held in her hands. From the corner of her eye,she saw the group of men approach the bread seller and make purchases.

Was Zacharias buying bread too? Wouldhe pass by her cart? It wasn’t the direct route through the market square. Andmen didn’t usually buy pottery for their households, since they left that totheir wives and daughters . . . She focused on the display before her,rearranging what didn’t need to be adjusted, but it kept her hands busy and hereyes focused.

“They’re coming this way,” Sapphirawhispered.

Elisabeth didn’t reply. Whatever wasthere to say? Either Zacharias spoke to her or he didn’t. She certainly wasn’tgoing to be the one to speak first—

“Your pottery designs are veryelegant,” a man said in a thick accent, and Elisabeth knew immediately it wasthe foreign merchant.

Why had the man chosen this moment tocross the square and speak to them?

But Sapphira greeted him with a sweetsmile. “Are you in need of a lamp to bring light to your evening meal, orperhaps your wife would like something pretty to fill with wine?”

The merchant’s grin broadened, and asthe breeze stirred about them, Elisabeth caught his scent of something likespoiled fruit.

“I have no wife, but I would neverturn down such a kind offer.” He reached for a jug and shifted it from one handto the other, as if the weight of the jug signified the value of the painteddesigns. “What is the price you are asking?”

Elisabeth’s gaze slid from themerchant to Sapphira, silently pleading for her cousin to give him an expensiveprice. She couldn’t explain it, but she didn’t want to trade with thisforeigner. Maybe because she felt that if he was willing to sell idols, thenhis other goods were tainted.

Sapphira seemed to have no qualmsthough. “These are very fine pottery pieces, and the paint comes from dyes wemixed ourselves.”

The merchant picked up one of the servingbowls, his easy smile still in place. He ran a finger along the edge. “Smoothand well-crafted.” His eyes lifted to study Elisabeth. “One of yours?”

“I . . . yes,” she managed to say.

His eyes were a strange mixture ofgreen and brown. His nose was long and narrow, and his dark hair streaked withsilver strands. She guessed him to be older than her father.

“Ah, I see the designs are asdelicate as the artist,” he rumbled. “My name is Tobias, and it’s a pleasure tomeet you.”

Elisabeth only nodded, then walked tothe other side of the cart to pick up a cloth, acting as if she needed to dusta few pieces.

The group of men that includedZacharias had moved through the market square now and were nearly to the endwhere the road led to the village homes built across the hills. A quick glancetold her most had bought flatbread, and now they were anxious to be reunitedwith their families.

“What about a trade for two sets ofpretty bracelets?” the merchant’s voice cut through her thoughts. “One set foreach of you?”

Sapphira clasped her hands and saidin a cheerful tone, “I’m afraid I’m not interested in jewelry since my husbandprovides that.”

“Then . . . your sister?”

“Cousin,” Sapphira amended. “It is upto her.”

The man’s glittering eyes were uponher once again. “Do you have a husband who gifts you with beautiful jewelry?”

Elisabeth swallowed against herdust-dry throat. “I-I do not.” She didn’t like how the man’s eyes gleamed.

“Or perhaps you’d like a prettystatue that I carved myself.” From the satchel at his waist, he pulled out asmall stone idol, its body elongated and its arms raised.

The sight of the idol up close feltlike a fire iron had been driven into her chest. “N-no thank you,” Elisabethsaid, wondering why she was stumbling over her words. “I am not an idol-worshipper.”

The merchant tilted his head, hisgrin reappearing. “Of course you wouldn’t want to worship a rudimentary stoneidol. You could be your own goddess. Men would come far and wide to sit at yourfeet and take in your beauty.”

Elisabeth didn’t know whether to feelhorrified or laugh at the inanity of this man’s comment. The morning sun hadrisen higher, and with it the heat of the day had blossomed, and perspiration prickledat her neck.

Before she could respond to themerchant, Sapphira said in a firm tone, “We thank you for your interest in ourpottery, but there will be no trading from us.”

The man didn’t seem affected by Sapphira’ssharp retort. “I understand. I don’t want a husband thinking I gave any giftsto his wife,” he said in a too-pleasant tone, then locked his attention onElisabeth. “Yet if your cousin is unmarried, there is no man to contend with.Please accept my humble and neighborly gift—even if it’s unworthy of yourbeauty.”

Her stomach knotted when he set thestone idol on the edge of the cart. One jostle and it would teeter and fall. Itwas almost as if the man were daring her to turn down a gift—something thatwould be considered very ill-mannered.

But there was no help for that. “Icannot accept your gift.” Elisabeth tried to keep her voice steady, even thoughher pulse leapt about like a grasshopper. “The market will soon be busy, andyou’ll have plenty of traders.”

The merchant stepped closer, comingright up to the cart. Thankfully, Elisabeth was on the other side of it, buthis cloying scent of rotten fruit intensified.

“I will keep this for you, myfriend,” he said in a steady tone, wrapping his fingers around the idol. “Sowhen you change your mind, you won’t have to worry. It will be safe with me,and all you have to do is show your lovely smile, and it will be yours—”

“What will be hers?” anotherman said, his form suddenly appearing in Elisabeth’s line of vision.

She snapped her gaze over. Zachariasstood there—but how? Hadn’t he left the market with the others?

She glanced past him to see that hewasn’t alone. His father, Daniel, stood a few paces away, arms folded, brows furrowedas if he was waiting for Zacharias to ask for assistance, should he need it.

“Good day, sir,” the merchant saidwith a bow. “Might you be in need of a trinket or a beautiful piece of jewelryfor your wife? Sister? Mother?”

But Zacharias wasn’t looking at themerchant. He was looking at her, his dark eyes searching. “Are you all right,Elisabeth?”

“Y-yes,” she murmured.

His gaze shifted to her cousin.“Sapphira?”

“Of course. This man was justreturning to his own side of the market.”

“Well, now . . .” The merchant took acouple of steps back. “I can return to my cart, of course, but if anyone isinterested in an early morning bargain, I can provide one.”

Zacharias faced the merchant andlifted his arm, pointing at the man’s cart. “I suggest you pack up your waresand head to another village. There will be no trading for you today.”

The merchant’s face flooded withcolor, and his brows tugged together. “I have every right to trade here, likeany merchant. I was here last week, and I didn’t see you or any of your men.”

Elisabeth noticed that the other menhadn’t gone far outside the market. They’d returned and now stood with Zacharias’sfather. They might have all just spent a week serving in the holy temple, butcurrently, they looked like they wouldn’t hesitate to throw a man out of theirmarket.

“You have three choices.” Zachariasfolded his arms. “Leave now on your own or be escorted out.” He tilted hishead. “Or we could settle this one-on-one.”

As scrappy as the merchant might becompared to Zacharias’s taller and broader height, he seemed to realize that hewas completely outnumbered. He gripped the idol in his hand and stalked to hiscart. There, he packed up his wares, throwing a glower or two over hisshoulder.

Zacharias remained in his stance, andthe other men with him stayed to watch too. No one spoke. Sapphira scooted to Elisabeth’sside and grasped her hand. Other vendors arrived at the upper end of themarket, but no one paid attention to the unfolding situation.

In a handful of minutes, the merchanthad packed up, then he hitched his cart to a donkey grazing not far off. With afew muttered oaths, he sent a final scathing look toward Zacharias. Then heheaded out of the market space, urging his donkey into a trot.

As the merchant cleared the market, Zacharias’sfather clapped him on the shoulder, then turned to leave with the other men.Were they going to follow the merchant out of the village boundaries? Or simplydisperse themselves?

Sapphira squeezed her hand, thenreleased it. “Thank you for your help, Zacharias. It saved Elisabeth fromknocking him over the head with one of our jars.”

Elisabeth appreciated the quip, buther heart was still pounding too hard to catch a full breath.

Zacharias focused on the women. “Ifyou are both well, then I’ll return before sundown and make sure you travelhome safely. I don’t trust that man to stay away.”

Elisabeth opened her mouth to ask howhe could know such a thing when Sapphira said, “Thank you. My husband will beworking until after dark, I am sure.”

Zacharias nodded.

So would he and all the men. The grapeharvest was upon them, beginning yesterday, andno matter what a man’s profession, they all joined in the harvest work. ButZacharias was willing to take time from his family’s work to make sure theywalked the short distance to their homes.

“We will be fine,” Elisabeth assuredhim, finding her voice at last. “That merchant will soon realize he’ll havemore success elsewhere and not bother us again.”

Zacharias’s deep brown eyes didn’tshift, didn’t question. He simply said, “I’ll be here at sundown.”

Part of the Healing Series!

Now available in Kindle, Paperback, Hardcover & Audible. 

Winter 1981

A shocking discovery. A thirty-year secret. A holiday that will change them forever.
Daniela Jacobs never expected to find the surprise of her life when cleaning out her mother’s home. But the adoption papers she discovers tucked away in a dresser drawer are no figment of her imagination. With a heart aching with questions, she calls every number in the phone book that matches her biological mother’s name—Sylvia Burton.

When Sylvia receives a phone call from a woman identifying herself as the daughter she placed for adoption thirty years before, Sylvia wonders if she can reconcile her former decisions with her present life. The hole in her heart has never truly healed, but the secrets of her past have become so buried that she fears bringing them to light will upset the fragile threads of her marriage.

More books by Heather B. Moore

THE HEALING SERIES:
The Healing Summer
The Healing Garden
The Healing Holiday

 So excited for this book to release!

Elisabeth: Mother of John the Baptist is coming this November. Preorder on Amazon!



SUMMARY:Her greatest sacrifice became her greatest legacy.

Zacharias has loved Elisabeth all his life. When negotiations are made for their marriage, the childhood friends trust that
their future will be bright. But as their story unfolds in their village near Jerusalem, the life they build together is marked by both the joy of love and the sorrows of loss and longing, for as the years pass by, the steadfast couple is never blessed with the thing they desire above all: a child.

Now beyond childbearing years, it seems that the couple’s righteous desire will never be granted—until a divine promise is made, and they learn that their fate will transcend the bounds of age and mortal comprehension. Elisabeth and Zacharias are destined to play a pivotal role in the fulfillment of ancient scripture, and they soon come to understand that God’s plan is far grander than they ever dreamed.

 

My historical novel: 

Julia: A Novel Inspired by the Extraordinary Life of Julia Child 

Releases September 2025. Pre-order on Amazon. 

It was an honor to write about the vivacious Julia Child. This biographical novel covers 20 years of Julia's life, starting in 1941. Julia served during WWII in the OSS, which was the precursor to the CIA. Julia's assignment took her to Ceylon (now Sri Lanka), and there she met her future husband, Paul Child. No, Julia didn't take cooking seriously until she was married. After some cooking classes, and many trials and errors, she dedicated herself to perfecting recipes. Once she moved to Paris with her husband for his work assignment, she promptly fell in love with French cuisine. There was no turning back for her. It would take her nearly ten years to see her coauthored cookbook, Mastering the Art of French Cooking, on the shelves. Her personality was larger-than-life, and after a guest television spot to promote her new cookbook, she was offered a cooking show series at a public television station, which would be known as The French Chef.

Summary:

Before she stepped into the spotlight as a master of French cooking, Julia Child navigated the shadows as a WWII intelligence officer.

On the sunny shores of California, Julia McWilliams is poised to embrace a life of comfort and financial security, with a marriage proposal from a wealthy man to consider. But as World War II erupts in the US, her patriotic fervor compels her to abandon her secure future. Trading country clubs for covert codes, Julia joins the Office of Strategic Services, where her sharp mind aids the Allied cause in the shadowy realm of espionage.

Amid strategic missions in Ceylon and China, Julia crosses paths with Paul Child, a fellow OSS officer whose delight in art, culture, and cuisine awakens a new hunger within her. Their chance meetings ignite a spark that blossoms into romance, leading to a proposal that Julia eagerly accepts. Together they embark on a new chapter in postwar Paris.

In the City of Light, Julia grapples with a different kind of challenge: she refuses to be confined by the societal expectations of a married woman. Drawn to the tantalizing world of French gastronomy—a pursuit her peers deem superfluous—she enrolls at the famed Le Cordon Bleu, and with Paul’s unwavering support, Julia immerses herself in her new passion.

Facing skepticism and prejudice in the male-dominated kitchens of Paris, Julia’s resolve never falters. Her relentless pursuit of culinary mastery not only transforms her own life but also introduces a revolutionary change in kitchens throughout America. From intelligence officer to beloved chef, this is Julia’s extraordinary journey.

Afterword

The pilots of The French Chef ran in August 1962, and Julia watched them at home on her new television. She wasn’t overly impressed with her performance but felt determined to learn from them. Despite her self-criticism of how she looked too large on camera and how she appeared breathless, not to mention her habit of closing her eyes, the letters from the public poured in—delighted with her genuine personality. 

With the pilots deemed successful, the production of The French Chef began in February 1963, recording at the breakneck speed of four shows each week. The debut day of the new television program was Monday, February 11, 1963, on Channel 2 at 8:00 p.m. (see this episode on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@JuliaChildonPBS). Julia cooked the “perfectly delicious dish” of boeuf bourguignon (Dearie by Bob Spitz, 341). Julia might have been fifty years old, but her career was just beginning. 

It didn’t take long for Julia Child to become a household name, and by the fourth show, WGBH-TV was receiving hundreds of letters a day from viewers. Affiliates included “KQED in San Francisco, WQED in Pittsburgh, WPBT in South Florida, WHYY in Philadelphia . . .” were just a few to start (Spitz, 346).

The attention and acclaim overwhelmed Julia, especially when people stopped her in public to tell her how much they loved the show. This only made her more determined to prepare to the smallest detail and perfect each episode, with Paul as her right-hand assistant. Paul once said, “These evenings, when other folk are at the movies or the symphony or lectures, find Julie and me in our kitchen—me with a stopwatch in hand, and Julie at the stove—timing various sections of the next two shows” (Spitz, 347).

From the beginning of her television appearances, Julia refused to participate in commercialism of products on her show since it was considered educational television. She didn’t want to feel forced to endorse any products or services. If she liked a product, she used it, plain and simple. 

On a return trip to France, Julia and Simca fell back into their close friendship, and Julia approached the topic of writing a second cookbook that would eventually become Mastering the Art of French Cooking: Volume Two. This would, of course, be authored by only Julia and Simca. Louisette’s personal life had become very complicated, not only from her terrible divorce, in which her husband had incurred hefty debts and fled the country, but she was also dealing with arthritis in her hands, which made cooking difficult (see Spitz, 372).

Eventually, Julia proposed a buyout plan for Louisette. Julia was happy that Louisette was getting a royalty share in their book, but the contract also entitled Louisette and “her heirs the right to exploit and determine the future direction of the copyright, and that was not fine by Julia” (Spitz, 388–389). The agreed upon buyout amount was $30,000, and in exchange, Louisette would relinquish all contract rights to the book (see 389). This amount came out of the advance that Julia received for Mastering the Art of Cooking, Volume Two.

In planning out volume two, Julia reasoned that they’d eliminated so many excellent recipes when creating volume one that she and Simca already had a head start on a second volume. The new cookbook topped off at 555 pages, with seven sections, which included thirty-eight pages on modern equipment that hadn’t been available when the first volume was published (Appetite for Life: The Biography of Julia Child by Noël Riley Fitch, 360). Knopf published this second volume, releasing it October 22, 1970, with the first print run of 100,000 copies.

One of the most requested recipes that Julia received from her readers and viewers was for French bread. She’d attempted to make it plenty of times, of course, but she’d never truly succeeded. She would deflect her readers, saying that even in France, the French made a trip each day to the neighborhood boulangerie to buy their baguettes. But when editor Judith Jones made the request to include a French bread recipe in Mastering II, Julia could no longer brush it off. This led to a flurry of experiments, first conducted by Paul since Julia was entrenched in writing, and the recipe couldn’t be tested by Simca in France. It had to be a recipe that stood the test of American ingredients and American ovens.

Paul dove into what they called the “Great Bread Experiment” (Spitz, 382). His early attempts produced bread that was too hard and heavy and didn’t hit any of the requirements of the flawless crust, the right crumb, the delicious flavor, and the perfect color. Eventually, Julia joined Paul in the experiments, and between them, they had eighteen different methods they continued to tweak. It wasn’t until Julia and Simca arranged a tutorial session with Professor Raymond Clavel, a renowned authority on French bread, that Julia learned the secrets she’d so long been hunting for (see Spitz, 384). The final recipe? It was twenty pages long (see Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Volume Two, 54–74). 

Throughout her television career, Julia received plenty of love and accolades as well as plenty of criticism. Cooking with wine on television was unheard of in the early 1960s, not to mention the audacity of a woman consuming alcohol on television. Over the years, and throughout many more cookbooks, Julia adapted and created recipes that would lend more to the health trends in America. Through it all, Julia stuck by her mantra of “moderation, moderation, moderation” (Spitz, 490) when she was scrutinized for the use of butter and other fats in her recipes. She called the naysayers against her French recipes “Nervous Nellies” (Spitz, 461), and she even adapted in later years by writing The Way to Cook, in which most of the main portions of the recipes were low calorie or fat-free (Spitz, 461).

For many years, Julia carried a proverbial weight of a culinary nemesis. Madeleine Kamman had issues with Julia that included claims—in criticism of The French Chef show—that Julia was “neither French nor a chef”—which, of course, Julia agreed with (see Fitch, 352). But the title of the television program was already set. And despite Julia and Kamman’s initial cordial friendship, Kamman took it upon herself to tell her students at her cooking school to destroy their copies of Mastering the Art of French Cooking and to never watch The French Chef (see Fitch, 352).

Kamman also loved to spread untrue rumors by telling industry professionals that Julia was retiring (see Spitz, 403). Julia had no trouble correcting Kamman’s misinformation and standing up for herself, but she was hurt that someone could be so vindictive. Julia got to the point where she refused to say the woman’s name anymore (see Spitz, 404).

After writing their second cookbook together, Julia and Simca didn’t coauthor again, but their friendship remained close. Julia and Paul spent most summers over the course of the next twenty-five years in France at La Pitchoune—a home they built on Simca’s property. The arrangement was that the Childs would pay for the construction and maintenance, but once they stopped using the home, it would revert to Simca’s family. The small house at La Pitchoune, completed in 1966, became a much needed refuge from Julia’s increasingly busy schedule. 

In her later years, when Julia was involved in the 1993–1994 television series Cooking with Master Chefs, it was decided that the second series would be filmed in her own kitchen at 103 Irving Street. This suited Julia well and saved her from traveling so much. It turned her house into a film studio, per se, where Julia welcomed and hosted America’s chefs in her kitchen (watch the series here: https://www.youtube.com/@JuliaChildonPBS). 

Paul’s decline in health came on gradually, and in 1974, he endured a series of nosebleeds, adding to other symptoms that had plagued him for some time, including chest pain and a constant ache in his left arm. He continued to brush off every symptom until he ended up at the hospital in October 1974 (see Spitz, 408–09). It was discovered that he needed bypass surgery. The surgery seemed to be successful, but his recovery was agonizingly slow, and new, troubling symptoms appeared. Paul’s speech had slurred, and he could no longer speak French. He had trouble moving and couldn’t stand straight. It was eventually determined that he’d suffered several strokes during his surgery. 

Paul’s condition eventually improved, but he never made a full recovery. He could no longer serve as a support to Julia’s writing and traveling schedule, yet Julia insisted that Paul still accompany her in order to keep an eye on him, despite the challenges of his becoming increasingly forgetful and disoriented (see Fitch, 440–41). They were eventually able to resume their visits to La Pitchoune, but Paul had trouble reading and often asked Julia to read to him. 

Unfortunately, while they were in France in July 1977, Freddie passed away from a heart attack (see Spitz 417). She was seventy-three years old. In 1981, determined to slow down in life, Julia and Paul bought a home on Seaview Drive in Montecito Shores in Santa Barbara (see Fitch, 416). It was a huge blow to Paul when his twin brother, Charlie, died in 1983. They’d been brothers and best friends for eighty-one years (see Fitch, 430). Another blow came when Simca died in December 1991 at the age of eighty-seven. Her death came as a grievous shock to Julia—her best friend and coauthor had been as close as a sister, and now nothing would be the same.

Although it was with a heavy heart, Julia finally had Paul move into an assisted-living facility, Fairlawn Nursing Home, in Lexington (see Spitz, 465). Paul’s confusion had returned, and his incidents of wandering and forgetfulness had become unmanageable without professional help (see Spitz, 485). Despite Julia’s grueling promotion schedule with another cookbook, she visited Paul every day that she was in Cambridge. Most of the time, he didn’t recognize her, but “she would climb in bed next to him and rub his head lovingly, filling him in on     everything” (Spitz 470). She’d also call him every night, and she’d go along with whatever topic he wanted to talk about. Sometimes, he’d switch to fluent French—it seemed his language skills had returned (see Spitz, 471). Paul died May 12, 1994, at the age of ninety-two (see Spitz, 494).

In 2001, at the age of eighty-nine, Julia permanently moved to California, (see Spitz, 518). She agreed to donate her kitchen to the Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum of American History: Kenneth E. Behring Center, located in Washington DC, on the National Mall. She donated her house to Smith College and her papers and cookbook collection to the Schlesinger Library at Radcliffe (see Spitz, 519).

With Julia permanently relocated to California, she took on another cat—a kitten, this time, that she named Minou. Even though pets were not allowed in her Montecito complex, Julia insisted, “My cat’s not going to bother anybody” (Julia’s Cats: Julia Child’s Life in the Company of Cats by Patricia Barey and Therese Burson, 133). 

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While researching and writing about the WASP aviators who served in World War II, it was interesting to discover that many of those I spoke to didn't know that women pilots flew war planes during that era. A few had heard of the British women ferrying pilots, and even fewer knew of the women who flew for the Soviet Union combat missions.

On American soil, women pilots weren’t militarized, so their contributions came under the umbrella of civilian pilots. Even before the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, there was a pilot shortage as the US was frantically building and sending aircraft across the Atlantic to support the Allied forces. Two women, Nancy Harkness Love and Jacqueline Cochran, worked tirelessly to propose solutions to fill the pilot shortage. Their vision included establishing a women’s pilot organization that would ferry planes from the manufacturers to airfields, freeing up the men to train and prepare for combat missions.

Beginning in 1940, Nancy Love persisted in her agenda at home while Jacqueline Cochran headed to England to join the British ATA Civilian Ferry Pilot Program that allowed women to ferry planes as part of the war effort.

After the bombing of Pearl Harbor in December 1941, and after the US declared war on Japan and the Axis powers, over 100,000 men and women enlisted in the military. Eventually 50 million of 132 million Americans became employed in the war effort, working for the government, and women entered the workforce as never before.

Nancy Love had a remarkable vision—one she didn’t give up on. Her perseverance and leadership became the catalyst to demonstrating how women could be integrated into and valued in the Army Air Forces as pilots. Nancy wanted to see female pilots given opportunities to serve their country, and though her vision did not become widespread in the 1940s, with persistence, she became a trailblazer.

Starting in 1940, Nancy Love waded through nearly two years of setbacks before Colonel William H. Tunner approved her idea of hiring women pilots to ferry planes for the Ferrying Command, a division of the Army Air Corps—picking up the planes at the manufacturing plants, then delivering them to air bases around the country, plus other ferrying duties. This filled in the gaps that male pilots created when they left to fly combat missions.

When Nancy Love’s program was finally approved in 1942, the Women’s Auxiliary Ferrying Squadron (WAFS) quickly filled with twenty-eight hand-selected women pilots, who were called the Originals. These women came from various backgrounds, but all were well-qualified to transition to the larger planes and bombers coming off the assembly lines.

Jacqueline Cochran, returned from Europe, headed up the Women’s Flying Training Detachment (WFTD), which trained and qualified additional women pilots to join the Women’s Ferrying Program. By August 1943, the WAFS had increased to over 225 women strong. That same August, Love’s WAFS combined with Cochran’s WFTD to become the WASP (Women Airforce Service Pilots). See: https://cafriseabove.org/nancy-harkne... 

During the nearly sixteen months of the WASP Program, more than 25,000 women applied for training. Of those, 1,879 candidates were accepted into the Training Program, which was moved from the Houston Municipal Airport to Avenger Field in Sweetwater, Texas. Only 1,074 women successfully graduated. See: https://www.army.mil/women/history/pi...

The WASP pilots spent 1942–1944 flying every type of combat plane and delivering 12,650 aircraft to seventy-eight different bases throughout the nation while logging in more than 60 million flight miles.

Women became the backbone of the progression of the war and the eventual Allied victory. They worked in factories, building aircraft, and as airplane mechanics at Army Air Corps bases. Thanks to the persistence of Nancy Love and Jacqueline Cochran, women ferried the war planes from the manufacturing floors to the airbases, where women also worked as instructors for male pilot trainees. In addition, women flew the towing targets for male combat pilot training, and they tested out planes with mechanical issues.

Nancy Love firmly believed that if women didn’t learn to fly multiengine war planes, it would create a bottleneck between the production line and ferrying the planes to the airfields. She took it upon herself to set the example that women could fly the larger, more complex aircraft. She qualified on virtually all the Army Air Force’s combat aircraft, including the P-51 Mustang, P-38 Lightning fighters, C-54 transport, B-17 Flying Fortress, Consolidated B-24 Liberator, and the B-29 Superfortress. Nancy became the trailblazer for many of the WASP pilots and future pilots who would follow in her footsteps. See: https://cafriseabove.org/nancy-harkne...  and  https://www.thisdayinaviation.com/tag...
With the war coming to an end and male pilots returning home, authorities viewed the need for a women pilots as obsolete, and the 1944 push for the WASP to militarize was
Nancy’s belief in herself and other women pilots never faltered. Through many setbacks of family tragedy, a world war, constant obstacles and roadblocks to earn trust for women pilots, and health challenges, Nancy continued to push forward, soaring higher in order to make the path smoother for female pilots in the future.

I'm looking forward to this short booklet, Shepherds Seeking, coming out in October! It was a special story to write and imagine how a shepherd might be influenced living in Christ's day and meeting the Shepherd Himself.

Pre-order on Amazon here. Summary:As young Elias shepherds his flock among the hills of Bethlehem, he enjoys contemplating the words of the prophets he once studied at the synagogue. But when a new star appears in the sky over the field, the scriptures are illuminated as never before. The Savior, born in humble circumstances, becomes a touchstone throughout Elias’s life as he records every account of Jesus of Nazareth. Perhaps no one will read the words of a lowly shepherd, but Elias does not seek recognition—his personal witness of the miraculous life and legacy of the Good Shepherd is enough.

 

Coming July 2024!

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Author’s Note

 

Through conversations with my father, S.Kent Brown, and Dr. Kerry Muhlestein, in addition to reading several books andwatching podcast discussions on Abraham’s family, which included insights fromCamille Fronk Olson and Dr. Daniel Peterson, I discovered my first impressionsof reading the applicable chapters in Genesis were quite wrong. Not everyonehas the interest or ability to dive deep into a particular ancient family’slives, and I appreciate the scholars and historians who carve out the path forme when I’m working on a historical novel.

Among historians and scholars, there isdebate on some of the details of biblical events and dates. Muhlestein statesthat Abraham was born about 1943 BC, which places his adult life in the middleof Egypt’s Middle Kingdom (From Creation to Sinai by Daniel L. Belnapand Aaron Schade, 243).  This paints a picture of the interactions thatAbraham had with the people of Canaan, as well as the Egyptians as theytraveled the caravan trails and occupied various cities over the decades.

Abraham and Isaac’s world would haveincluded trading with Egyptians since Beersheba and Hebron are along the traderoute to Egypt (ibid, 244, 249–250).  They would have been exposed to the humantrafficking of slaves (ibid, 250),  and of course the religious rites of multiplegods and human sacrifice (ibid, 252).

Abraham’s tribe was large, possibly around2,000 people in his community (ibid, 467).  Histribe consisted of multi-generational households and multifamily clans (ibid,466),  making Abraham’s personal household in thehundreds. We know that Abraham’s tribe had 318 men trained in combat, who wentto the aid of Abraham’s nephew Lot (see Genesis 14:14).  

Interestingly enough, there’s a parallelbetween Abraham’s flight from Haran (see Genesis 12:1),  andRebekah later leaving the same city and her family behind. Both did so at thebehest of Adonai.

Eliezer, who is mentioned as Abraham’s chiefservant and faithful steward, may or may not have been the servant who went insearch of a wife for Isaac (see Genesis 15:2; 24:2).  Forstory purposes, I used Eliezer’s name and developed his character as theservant whom Abraham called upon for that very sacred task.

One hurdle I came across was whetherRebekah’s father, Bethuel, was alive at the time of Eliezer’s arrival andRebekah’s commitment to marry Isaac. Camille Fronk Olson points out that the ancientscholar Josephus believed that Bethuel had died, and this is why Rebekah runsto her mother’s house (or tent) to report the arrival of Abraham’s servant (seeWomen of the Old Testament by Camille Fronk Olson, 55; referencing Antiquitiesof the Jews by Flavius Josephus, 1.16.2).  But in discussion with my father, he relatedthat women often owned their own tents in Bedouin society, so that wouldexplain why Rebekah named the family tent as her mother’s house. We also learnthat the handmaid Deborah is sent with Rebekah to Canaan, along with otherdamsels (see Genesis 24:59, 61; 35:8).  This would be part of the bride price forRebekah.

Abraham lived as a nomad and didn’t stay inone place year after year. He traveled with the seasons to find the bestgrazing land for his cattle, herds, and flocks. Scholars believe that Canaanhad significant rainy seasons during Abraham’s lifetime, so the topographywasn’t as barren as we modern thinkers might believe (From Creation to Sinai,349–50).  Muhlestein mentioned in a conference call thatIsaac was more sedentary than Abraham, and Jacob became more sedentary thanIsaac. This created a mixed nomadic lifestyle, in which they still lived out oftents but were increasingly sedentary.

According to Muhlestein, Abraham builtaltars of worship in locations such as Hebron, Beersheba, Bethel, and Shechem (ibid,346).  When Abraham was asked to sacrifice Isaac,surely this was a repeated nightmare of when Abraham’s father attempted tosacrifice him. Child sacrifice was not uncommon in the ancient world, and itwas believed to be a form of worship to the god Molech (ibid, 364).  Ofcourse, Abraham’s sacrifice was requested by Adonai and not false idolatry.

Now onto the difficult part of the story whereit’s hard to understand Abraham’s and Sarah’s actions toward Hagar when theysent her away. Hagar is Sarah’s slave—possibly from Egypt, although we do notknow with certainty. Due to Sarah’s barrenness, she enlists Hagar to bearchildren with Abraham, although the children will be born in Sarah’s name.

Hagar becomes pregnant, but living under therule of Sarah becomes intolerable, so she flees (see Genesis 16:6).  Anangel of Adonai entreats Hagar to return to the tribe and reveals the blessingsthat will come her way, including naming her son Ishmael. Hagar then returns. WhenIsaac is born to Sarah years later, this displaces Ishmael. Although Ishmael ispromised the posterity of twelve princes and the future of a great nation  and hiscovenant blessings are ensured because of Hagar’s return and Ishmael’s eventualcircumcision, he is not the birthright son (From Creation to Sinai, 472).

Tensions mount again between the two wives, andwhen Isaac is weaned (making him about three years old), an incident occursthat involves Ishmael mocking Isaac. This must be the last straw in a series ofevents because Sarah tells Abraham to “cast out this bondwoman and her son” (seeGenesis 21:10)  much to Abraham’s grief. But when he inquiresof Adonai, He confirms Sarah’s decision, and reiterates that Ishmael willbecome his own great nation. Something that he couldn’t do living a subservientlife under Isaac’s future rule and birthright status.

Tradition states that to remove Hagar fromthe tribe, Sarah has every right to sell her back into the slave trade. ButSarah instead sets the woman free to live her own life, unencumbered by therule of Abraham and Isaac, which will, in turn, allow Ishmael to become his ownruler of a future nation (From Creation to Sinai, 413, 472, 474).  Inthis way, Hagar is released from her marital obligation to Abraham. Her son,Ishmael, can now establish his own tribe and become the patriarch andforefather of the Ishmaelites in Islam.

Although Rebekah and Isaac’s marriage wascloser to an arranged marriage, since neither party knew each other before thebetrothal, Rebekah had full rights to accept or refuse the marriage offer. Thisis why we see Rebekah being consulted, even after her father and brother haveagreed to the betrothal (see Genesis 24:58 and From Creation to Sinai,477).

How long was the journey from Beersheba toHaran? Likely several weeks one way. Olson stated that the caravan would havespent at least a month on the trail (Women of the Old Testament, 51).  Thecaravan would have been impressive with ten camels, perhaps ten men, travelingwith supplies and gifts. Olson also points out that Rebekah’s jar would haveheld maybe five gallons of water, and with ten camels who consume twenty-fiveto thirty gallons of water, she filled her jar about fifty times (ibid,51).  

Rebekah likely heard of Abram, Sarai, andtheir story of leaving Haran. Rebekah wouldn’t have known much of what hadhappened after they left, so any news about Isaac would be new to her. Thepresentation of gifts by Eliezer to Rebekah and her family was essentiallysecuring the betrothal agreement, although I added an actual ceremony to thestory.

 

 

Photo: Heather & Marie Vischer Elliott (Rita), Aug 2021 

In August 2021, I had the privilege of meeting Marie (Rita) Vischer Elliott for the first time when she traveled to my home state. My husband and I visited with her for a couple of hours, and she told us stories about her remarkable life in her lovely accent. Marie is now called Mary by family and friends, but I refer to her as Marie in this story for clarity. During our first meeting, Marie and I were both vetting each other. I wondered if I’d be able to do justice to a story that Marie had kept to herself for so many decades. She wondered if she was truly ready to share such private and difficult memories.

Marie told me that her family never spoke of the war after it ended. Her parents had wanted to fully move on. Years later, Marie ventured to ask her mother some questions, but her mother gave precious few answers. The topic was still considered a closed book to the past. Because of all that she’s endured, Marie never wanted to watch war movies or read about wars. She especially stayed away from stories about concentration or prison camps and their victims. Like her parents, she was keeping her past firmly behind her.

Yet, a slow change came over Marie in recent years, and she was surprised to realize that she wanted to share her past. She wrote up a brief summary of her experiences, and she began to tell her family about what had happened to her. The lock she’d kept on her memories and fears was slowly turned, then opened.

Marie’s remarkable story begins when she was a child, living in Indonesia (then called the Netherlands East Indies). Both her parents were originally from the Netherlands. Her father, George Vischer, who worked for the Royal Packet Navigating Company (KPM), was stationed on Java Island as his home base.

World War II left very few countries unscathed, and Marie’s family was divided up, then sent to live in Japanese prison-of-war camps after Japan invaded, conquered, and then occupied Indonesia. Marie, her mother, grandmother, and younger brother Georgie were sent to the Tjideng camp, which interned women and young children. Men and older boys were sent to their own camps. This began a period in Marie’s life that would shape her childhood, her future, and her beliefs.

Having read dozens of books about the World War II era over the years, I hadn’t ever read anything about the Dutch people’s experience in Indonesia. When I searched for books or films about the subject matter, I was only able to find self-published memoirs. I bought everything I could find and began to read.

I was already excited to write a historical novel about Marie’s early life just from what she’d shared with me in our first meeting, but I had no idea the impact of the war on Indonesia and its people until I dove deeper into research. Story after story, shared by former POW camp victims, revealed experiences long-buried. At the end of this novel is a list of the memoirs and other historical sources that helped frame this book.

As a backdrop to Marie’s story, it’s important to understand why Indonesia became an strategic asset to the Axis power of Japan during the war. Due to the oil embargos against the Axis powers, the oil fields that spanned the Netherlands East Indies (NEI) drew Japan to the islands since they were searching for mineral resources to fuel its war effort. To the Japanese, the Dutch colonies were a diamond in the Pacific.

In the early 1600s, the Dutch joined other traders such as the Spanish, Portuguese, British, Arabia, etc., bent on securing trade routes and trade posts throughout southeastern Asia and the Americas. In 1602, in order to establish a dynasty over other traders, the Dutch founded the world’s first multinational trading empire called the Vereenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie (VOC) or Dutch East Indies Company. This began the next two centuries of the VOC running trading posts. When the VOC declared bankruptcy in 1796, the Netherlands government took over, and the Dutch colonization of the East Indies went into full effect. Over the next several decades, Dutch families moved to Java and Sumatra, seeking opportunities in private enterprise.

On the day that the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941 (December 8 in the NEI), the NEI was spurred into action, and they declared war on Japan. Every Dutchman the age of eighteen or older was conscripted into one of the Royal military branches to undergo accelerated military training. Overall, the Dutch relied mostly on the Western Allied powers for help. But the Allies were busy defending other Pacific Rim countries such as the Philippines and Singapore, leaving the NEI vulnerable to attack.

Battles raged between Japan and the Dutch, on land and on sea, ending with the Battle of the Java Sea, in which the NEI and Allied fleet was soundly defeated. Three days later, Japanese forces landed on Java Island, and one week later, on March 8, 1942, the NEI governing body officially capitulated to Japan.

As a result, over 100,000 Dutch men, women, and children were funneled into prison camps. An additional 40,000 Dutch men became prisoners of war, many of them shipped to work camps in Burma, Japan, and Thailand.

The Dutch-Indonesians, or Indos, were caught in the middle. Descended from Dutch and Indonesian marriages, due to the decades of intermarriage from Dutch colonization, the Indos were given a choice: live in the prison camps or serve the new Japanese regime.

With the takeover of the NEI by the Japanese, everything related to the Dutch culture was replaced by Japanese culture. Even Batavia, the capital of the NEI, was renamed to Jakarta. The Japanese language was taught in schools, the Japanese calendar implemented, and local time became Tokyo time.

Over 6,000 of the 18,110 islands of the Indonesia archipelago are inhabited, and in 1941, the Dutch population made up most of the Europeans living throughout the islands. The total population of the NEI was about 60 million people. To understand the scope of the loss the Dutch people suffered throughout the prison camps in Indonesia, by the end of the war, 30,000 European internees had died, but even more sobering is that a total of four million civilians perished, which included Indonesians and Indo-Europeans, as a result of malnutrition and forced labor.

Under the Java Moon follows the story of Marie and her family, as they endured the hardships of living in a POW camp during World War II. At the end of February 1942, Marie’s father, George Vischer, fled for his life with a group of naval officers in order to join up with Australian Allied forces. On a fateful day in March 1942, Marie Vischer was ushered out of her home. Marie, her elderly grandmother, her mother, and toddler brother were forced into a women’s prison camp ran by the notoriously cruel Japanese commander, Captain Kenichi Sonei.

This is Marie’s story.

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Bucket List. Check.

For several years, the Salem Witch Museum has been carrying paperback copies of the book I wrote about my 10th great-grandmother Susannah North Martin, CONDEMN ME NOT. I've long wanted to do a book signing there, and now I'll be heading to Massachusetts in a few weeks and signing at the Salem Witch Museum on June 22, 12-4:00 pm. Join me if you're in the area!