Tuesday, May 20, 2014

The Immortal American (The Immortal American Series) by L.B. Joramo

The Immortal American (The Immortal American Series) by L.B. Joramo
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A Chanticleer Paranormal Finalist

In the midst of the Battle of Concord, Violet Buccleuch wakes to look down at the gaping hole through her heart.

Two months before In February 1775 she lives the life of a normal colonial woman. Though normal is a stretch of the word, since she wears breeches and farms to provide for her sister and mother. However, she knows well of expectations for her to settle down and marry. Her sights are set to wed her childhood friend, Mathew Adams. But fate and a French spy, Jacque Beaumont, falter her best intentions.

Her heart is pulled in two directions as one man offers what she desires; the other saves her after violence and grief rip Violet’s life apart. Then the battle that erupts the American Revolution rages in her yard, forcing Violet, with a rifle in her hand, to choose her own fate. But destiny deals her another blow. After she sips what appears to be innocuous water, she finds herself impervious to . . . death. Now immortal, Violet rushes to lend her sniper’s eye for the battle, which she hopes will save the man she vows to love.


“V. V. Buccleuch. It is such an unusual name. Mathew told me it is Scottish. I just assumed it was a relative of yours or maybe your father, but it is you.”
I wasn’t sure what Monsieur Beamont was talking about and wondered if the hot sun had gotten the better of him in his dark uniform, but then he said, “Every book I have checked out from the Harvard library has been checked out by you. Every one by a V. Buccleuch.”
I smiled and my heart raced. “You must read a lot.” I flinched and retracted. “I mean—oh, I sound like a braggart.”
His laugh was no longer silent at all. Suddenly he stopped chuckling. “You have Locke’s Letter on Toleration.”
“Yes, I do. I just got that a week ago.”
“I know. The librarian told me that a scholar had it.”
“He did? Mr. Winthrop was a friend of my father’s who lets me check out the books.” I was inwardly warmed that Mr. Winthrop would call me a scholar. “I love the philosophical mind of John Locke. Any philosopher really. My father and I used to spend whole days discussing philosophy.”
Monsieur Beaumont’s smile dimmed. “May I ask, who you talk to now about philosophy?”
I looked over at the smiling face of my mother as she was drinking wine with Mrs. Barrett, and the angry face of my sister as she was pointing a finger at Mr. Foster’s chest, and finally my eyes swept over the large frame of Mathew. My mother and sister hadn’t ever engaged in philosophy, and Mathew was such a good, kind, and intelligent man, but not a philosopher.
I shrugged. “No one. I—”
“Then, it is settled for us. We must meet . . . every day, I think, to make up for lost time.”
Oui, don’t you think so? After all it was Locke himself that stated that it was a duty for all mankind to come together to discuss philosophy.”
I chuckled. “The Essay Concerning Human Nature, yes? That is what you are using as the agent to propel us to discuss philosophy . . . every day?”
He nodded. “All right, I admit, he wrote to explore such subjects within the limits of one’s social opportunities, but I have not had anyone to talk to, nor have you, for some time. So we should meet every day. We have so much to discuss. Should we start with the Greeks?”
I’d always wondered what impelled a person’s decisions, especially when the choices he or she made could change their lives forever more. Greed? Sex? The Greeks believed these were the main drives of humanity. But what about matters of the heart? What pushes a person to knowingly make a bad judgment?
I cannot tell, as my own heart was beating so voraciously I couldn’t hear any advice it was giving.
“I—I want to discuss science and math too. Newton and Leibniz.”
Monsieur Beaumont’s smile somehow managed to widen. His eyes took in the light of the afternoon sun and radiated it back to me in the deepest color of blue.
“As you wish, but I must warn you, I’m not good at calculus.”
I smiled and nodded. “I am. I’ll tutor you.”
“I will, of course, be a horrid pupil.” He lifted one black brow playfully.
I chuckled. “That’s all right. I’ll just beat you.”
“I’m looking forward to it then.”
“As am I.”
I bit down on my smile as I turned from him, instantly spying my mother and sister—my whole life. If there was even the slightest whisper of me conducting interviews with men, single men, both my mother and sister’s lives would be changed, perhaps in ruins, if I was caught being improper.
“No.” I couldn’t look at him while I gave my answer. I could only stare at my family. “I can’t meet you. I’m sorry, I—”
“But I’ve seen you shoot,” he paused.
His long silence provoked me to turn back to him, wondering what his point was. I met his dark, searching eyes.
His nose flared while he said, “With a shot like that you can do anything you want.”

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