New Release! NATHANIEL AND SOPHIA HAWTHORNE: OUR DESTINED BOND

I'm very happy to announce my latest release, NATHANIEL AND SOPHIA

 HAWTHORNE: OUR DESTINED BOND, about the Hawthornes' storybook romance

 with a paranormal twist.

UNIVERSAL LINK 

About NATHANIEL AND SOPHIA HAWTHORNE

Salem, Massachusetts witnessed horrific and shameful events in 1692 that haunted

 the town for three centuries. Accused as witches, nineteen innocent people were

 hanged and one was pressed to death. Judge John Hathorne and Reverend

 Nicholas Noyes handed down the sentences. One victim, Sarah Good, cursed

 Noyes from the hanging tree: “If you take away my life, God will give you blood to

 drink!” She then set her eyes on Judge Hathorne. “I curse you and your

 acknowledged heirs for all time on this wicked earth!” Hathorne was not only Sarah

 Good’s merciless judge; he also fathered her son Peter and refused to

 acknowledge him. 

In 1717, Nicholas Noyes choked on his own blood and died. Every generation after the judge continued to lose Hathorne land and money, prompting the rumor of a family curse. By the time his great great grandson Nathaniel was born, they faced poverty. 

Ashamed of his ancestor, Nathaniel added the ‘w’ to his last name. His novels and stories explore his beliefs and fears of sin and evil, and he based many of his characters on overbearing Puritan rulers such as Judge Hathorne. 

When Nathaniel first met Sophia Peabody, they experienced instantaneous mutual attraction. Sparks flew. He rose upon my eyes and soul a king among men by divine right, she wrote in her journal.

But to Sophia’s frustration, Nathaniel insisted they keep their romance secret for three years. He had his reasons, none of which made sense to Sophia. But knowing that he believed Sarah Good’s curse inflicted so much tragedy on his family over the centuries, she made it her mission to save him. Sarah was an ancestor of Sophia’s, making her and Nathaniel distant cousins—but she kept that to herself for the time being.

Sophia suffered severe headaches as a result of childhood mercury treatments. She underwent routine mesmerizing sessions, a popular cure for many ailments. Spirits sometimes came to her when mesmerized, and as a spiritualist and medium, she was able to contact and communicate with spirits. She knew if she could reach Sarah and persuade her to forgive Judge Hathorne, Nathaniel would be free of his lifelong burden.

Sarah’s son Peter had kept a journal the family passed down to the Peabodys. Sophia sensed his presence every time she turned the brittle pages and read his words. John Hathorne’s legitimate son John also kept a journal, now in the Hawthorne family’s possession. Living on opposite sides of Salem, Peter and John wrote in vivid detail about how the Salem trials tormented them throughout their lives.

Nathaniel finally agreed to announce their engagement, and married Sophia on July 9, 1842. They moved into their first home, The Old Manse in Concord, Massachusetts. Wanting nothing else but to spend the summer enjoying each other, we became Adam and Eve, alone in our Garden of Eden, Sophia wrote in her journal.

As success eluded Nathaniel, they lived on the verge of poverty. After being dismissed from his day job at the Salem Custom House, he wrote The Scarlet Letter, which finally gained him the recognition he deserved.

But the curse he believed Sarah cast on his family still haunted him. On a visit to his  cousin Susannah Ingersoll at The House of the Seven Gables, Sophia spotted a judge’s gavel. Out of curiosity Sophia picked it up and a shock ran through her as if electrified. She dropped it, instantly knowing it carried something evil. Susannah told her Judge Hathorne had used it during the trials.

Sophia urged Nathaniel to write a novel about the house, knowing it would be cathartic for him. While they lived in Lenox, Nathaniel finished writing The House of the Seven Gables. The Gothic novel explored all his fears and trepidations about the curse. He told Sophia, “Writing it, and especially reading it aloud to you lifted a tremendous burden off my shoulders. I felt it physically leave me. I carried this inside me since my youth and couldn’t bring it out to face it. And I have you, and only you, to thank.”

But he did not believe the curse could be lifted. 

At that moment Sophia knew what she needed to do. “We’re going to The Gables. Only there can I make sure Sarah forgives the judge.” She invited renowned spiritualist John Spear to The Gables. She explained that she needed to complete one final step to convince Nathaniel the curse was lifted.

At The Gables, John asked Susannah if anything in the room was connected to the witch trials. She retrieved the gavel and handed it to him. As John curled his fingers around the handle, he told them that the judge suffered lifelong anguish after condemning the victims. He didn’t publicly atone because he needed to carry out his duties as a judge. His energy, his essence, was still attached to the gavel.

He told Nathaniel that his belief in the curse fed this object, physically creating a monster.

Sarah herself did not curse his family—but the energy of all the anger, bitterness, venom and hatred in her words survived the centuries. That caused the misfortunes that befell him and his family. Only his final and unconditional forgiveness would end that. He urged Nathaniel to forgive Judge Hathorne. “You don’t have to say it out loud,” John said. “Just forgive him in your heart.”

Nathaniel bowed his head and whispered his forgiveness.

A ghostly mist formed in the doorway. Sarah conveyed to Sophia through the ether what she needed them to know. As she faded to nebulous mist and vanished, Sophia assured Nathaniel that his forgiveness of the judge now balanced out the suffering of the victims. 

She turned to the last page of Peter’s journal and saw words that were not there before: Dear John, I forgive you. Signed, Sarah Good.      

John Spear, Nathaniel and Sophia went to Judge Hathorne’s gravesite to give the journals and the gavel proper burial.

As they turned to leave, Nathaniel grasped her hand. “We’re going home, my Dove. And I don’t mean Salem or the Berkshires, but to where you and I started, as Adam and Eve. Back home. To our Garden of Eden in Concord.”

 

Read About My 1894 New York Romance FROM HERE TO FOURTEENTH STREET With an Italian Holiday Recipe

 

Happy Holidays With a Genuine Italian Recipe

 

Can an Italian sweatshop worker and an Irish cop fall in love on Manhattan’s Lower East Side in 1894? The answer is a big YES, and once they’re enjoying wedded bliss in their Greenwich Village brownstone, they spend their first Christmas together feasting on her strufoli (Italian for honey balls). 

In FROM HERE TO FOURTEENTH STREET it's 1894 on New York's Lower East Side. Irish cop Tom McGlory and Italian immigrant Vita Caputo fall in love despite their different upbringings. They know their love can survive poverty, hatred, and corruption. 

getBook.at/NewYorkSagaBookOne

Here’s Vita’s Honey Balls recipe: 

When my grandparents came from Naples and landed at Ellis Island in the early 1900s they brought many recipes with them, but only in their heads. No one brought cookbooks or recipes along with their possessions. A favorite Christmas treat is Struffoli, better known as Honey Balls. One Christmas when I was a kid, I watched my grandmother make them and scribbled down the ingredients as she sifted and mixed and baked and drizzled. Here's an accurate recipe in English!

Ingredients
Dough:
•2 cups flour, plus extra for dusting
•1 large lemon, zested (about 2 teaspoons)
•1/2 large orange, zested (about 2 teaspoons)
•3 tablespoons sugar
•1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt
•1/4 teaspoon baking powder
•1/2 stick (2 ounces) unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch pieces, at room temperature
•3 large eggs
•1 tablespoon white wine, such as pinot grigio
•1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
•Canola oil, for frying
•1 cup honey
•1/2 cup sugar
•1 tablespoon lemon juice
•1 1/2 cups hazelnuts, toasted (see Cook's Note)
•Vegetable oil cooking spray
•Sugar sprinkles, for decoration
•Powdered sugar for dusting, optional

Directions

For dough: In the bowl of a food processor, pulse together 2 cups of flour, lemon zest, orange zest, sugar, salt, and baking powder. Add the butter and pulse until the mixture resembles a coarse meal. Add the eggs, wine, and vanilla. Pulse until the mixture forms into a ball. Wrap the dough in plastic wrap and refrigerate for 30 minutes.

Cut the dough into 4 equal pieces. On a lightly floured surface, roll out each piece of dough until 1/4-inch thick. Cut each piece into 1/2-inch wide strips. Cut each strip of pastry into 1/2-inch pieces. Roll each piece of dough into a small ball the size of a hazelnut. Lightly dredge the dough balls in flour, shaking off any excess. In a large heavy-bottomed saucepan, pour enough oil to fill the pan about a third of the way. Heat over medium heat until a deep-frying thermometer inserted in the oil reaches 375 degrees F. (If you don't have a thermometer a cube of bread will brown in about 3 minutes.). In batches, fry the dough until lightly golden, about 2 to 3 minutes. Transfer to a paper towel-lined plate to drain. (The rested and quartered dough can also be rolled on a floured work surface into 1/2-inch thick logs and cut into equal-sized 1/2-inch pieces. The dough pieces can then be rolled into small balls and fried as above).

In a large saucepan, combine the honey, sugar, and lemon juice over medium heat. Bring to a boil, stirring occasionally, until the sugar is dissolved, about 3 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat. Add the fried dough and hazelnuts and stir until coated in the honey mixture. Allow the mixture to cool in the pan for 2 minutes.
Spray the outside of a small, straight-sided water glass with vegetable oil cooking spray and place in the center of a round platter. Using a spoon or damp hands, arrange struffoli and hazelnuts around the glass to form a wreath shape. Drizzle remaining honey mixture over the struffoli. Allow to set for 2 hours (can be made 1 day in advance). Decorate with sprinkles and dust with powdered sugar.

Remove the glass from the center of the platter and serve.

Note: To toast the hazelnuts, arrange in a single layer on a baking sheet. Bake in a preheated 350 degrees F oven 8 to 10 minutes. Cool before using.

Total Time: 4 hr 12 min
Prep: 1 hr 30 min
Yield: 8 to 10 servings

Meet My Dear Friend, Romance Author Angela Rosati, and Read About Her Extraordinary Stories, Straight From the Heart--With Her Own Brand of Humor

Angela has been a very dear friend of mine for 30 years, and she is a gifted writer. She is 96 years YOUNG and still writing heartfelt historical romances.

I highly recommend every one of her historical novels. She writes straight from the heart, and her stories are 100% genuine and authentic–because she was THERE!

About Angela

I was born on August 22, 1929 in Long Island City, NY. I grew up in Astoria, NY. I wanted to be a teacher, but got drafted into the family business. Then at age 29 (which was very old as per Italians) got married. Then in my late 70s, I bought a computer and started writing hysterical/historical family tales my family was tired of hearing. I love music and I sing opera arias by Giacomo Puccini. My grandson, at a very young age, asked me why I sing in the shower. I responded, "The door is locked and nobody can tell me to shut up!"

Visit Angela on Amazon

An article in The Italic Institute of America, "The Italian Heritage on a Classical Foundation" :

In Those Days by Bill Dal Cerro | Mar 1, 2025

A 96 year old “new author” focuses on early Italian immigrants 

In Those Days is a short essay written by Angela M. Rosati, the daughter of Italian immigrants from Basilicata (father) and Puglia (mother). Raised in Astoria, Queens, the same neighborhood as the great Tony Bennett (born Anthony Benedetto), Rosati has made it her mission to document the Great Migration (1880-1924), specifically via the experiences of her family. What’s interesting about Rosati is that she first began writing in the 70s—no, not the decade, but her age. A self-described “Nanny Granny,” she was in her late 70s, bought a computer and began writing personal stories and mini-novels “when my grandchildren were busy outside playing after school. I didn’t know I could do it.” 

She did, and she hasn’t stopped. Over the past 18 years—she turns 96 this August—Rosati has turned out 11 books centered on the idea of teaching the latest generation that life for early Italians “back in the day” wasn’t all pasta and roses. As she puts it, “They need to know how offended and ill-treated we were. Yet we didn’t sit on the curb and cry. We prevailed because we knew who we were, we knew our strength.” 

That strength was something called Italian culture: “Cuisine! Music! Art! Movies! Food! Operas! Who writes them better? When a soprano enters a singing contest, she sings, ‘O Mio Babbino Caro’ by Giacomo Puccini. A guaranteed win!”

Ms. Rosati came to my attention a month ago after she emailed to compliment me on a recent blog. It was very fortuitous, as I had been having discussions with colleagues over the appalling (and depressing) lack of representation of Italians in American history. Peruse any current social studies book in our nation’s schools and you will see none of our heroes and heroines—our role models—ever mentioned.

Instead, you will see what I call the “Three C’s”: Columbus, Capone and Cascades of Unwashed Immigrants. Even the story of Sacco & Vanzetti, whose 1927 execution in Boston remains a template of anti-immigrant prejudice, is hardly ever mentioned anymore. 

The first two C’s are now radioactive. Capone always has been, but Columbus has become (unfairly and unjustly) a lightning rod of scorn by angry activists. And the Cascade of Unwashed Immigrants is more like one big, gigantic, amorphous blob—an uninspiring pile of nothing. 

Rosati’s writings are invaluable in that they turn that blob into individual cells. She puts human faces on those follicles. If our nation still refuses to publicly proclaim any pride in, say, inspiring role models like A.P. Giannini or Ella Grasso, they can’t keep suggesting that Italian immigrants themselves were of no value. By documenting their suffering, by personalizing it, Rosati’s books say to academia, “Oh, yeah?”

She does it with humor: “I was the third, and only girl, of four kids. When some people heard this, they would say, ‘Oh, you must be the queen.’ Yes, I’m queen of the mop and the ironing board. My parents were careful not to spoil me and my three brothers.”

She does it with drama: “My father, Angelo Russo, rarely spoke of his wartime experiences. He fought for Italy during WWI in the Austrian campaign. But, he had nightmares. We would hear him vocalize sounds at night. And Papa did tell us once, when he was in the trenches, one of his buddies from Bari said, ‘Russo, I’m afraid to die.’ Immediately, he received a bullet in his skull. Papa said there was blood, brains and flesh everywhere. He never recounted any other similar stories after that.”

And she does it with a childlike candor, whether relating unkind comments from Irish or German neighbors or relating how teachers in the schools routinely slapped Italian boys “because they (the teachers) knew the Italian boys would never squeal on them. Parents always thought the teacher was right. The Italian boys endured the embarrassment of those slaps rather than get a beating from offended parents.” 

As a witness to both the good and the bad, Rosati is in an excellent position to see how Italian Americans triumphed over their often-difficult circumstances. So it has some gravitas when she compares the reality of real Italians to images perpetuated in the media: “The way Hollywood depicts Italians is all wrong. The men are depicted as thieves, gangsters, and murderers. The women are all depicted as whores and liars. Unfortunately, most Italian Americans today, and others, believed the baloney. But the damage is done and we must correct it.”

Rosati is heroically doing so by documenting our true stories. 

Visit the Italic Institute of America

My Halloween Story, Favorite Halloween Recipe, and How a Ghost Helped Solve a Murder in my 1894 Romance FROM HERE TO FOURTEENTH STREET

 

I do paranormal investigations with a group near where I live, and I attended my very first 

ghost hunt with them a few nights before Halloween. About ten of us visited Old Dunstable 

Cemetery where some victims of a 1702 Indian massacre are buried. It’s the oldest cemetery 

in Nashua, dating back from when the land was part of Massachusetts. The earliest burial 

dates from 1687. Researchers had found the victims’ names, so we were able to locate their 

gravestones. The only equipment I had at the time were my dowsing rods and a digital 

camera. While others in the group made their attempts to contact spirits, I stood before a 

gravestone that read: this Man, with Seven more, that lies in this Grave; was Slew, All in

 A day, by the Indiens.

Holding my rods, I asked a few questions: Did you die in the massacre? Were you born here? You can only ask simple yes or no questions and ask the rods to cross for yes and separate for no. I got answers to all my questions. I then stood before another stone reading: Rev. Thomas Weld, Born June 1653, Settled as the first minister of the church in Dunstable Dec. 1685, probably massacred by the Indians while defending the settlement June 7, 1702, age 49. All the while, I felt a strong presence, and immediately began feeling dizzy and lightheaded. I found that this happens quite frequently when I ghost hunt. I’ve never seen a ghost, but have felt presences near me, and always get dizzy when I sense someone is nearby. I took several photos throughout the cemetery, and some came out with brightly colored arcs among the tombstones. I didn’t dare visit that graveyard on Halloween night!

Several of my books have paranormal elements, and my next release is FOR THE LOVE OF HAWTHORNE, the love story of Nathaniel and Sophia Hawthorne. Nathaniel bore a burden that plagued his family since 1692. His ancestor Judge Hathorne condemned nineteen innocent victims to death during the Salem witch trials. His heinous deeds brought shame and guilt upon the family through the centuries. In her last moments on earth, Sarah Good cursed the judge and his descendants from the hanging tree. Nathaniel's belief in this curse haunted and tormented him until Sophia, a gifted medium, made it her quest to save him by contacting Sarah’s spirit and asking for forgiveness.

How a Ghost Helped Solve a Murder in FROM HERE TO FOURTEENTH STREET

My heroine Vita Caputo lived on Mott Street on Manhattan's Lower East Side. In 1894, her fiancé Tom's cousin Mike was found murdered in an alley next to her tenement building. Prejudice against Italian immigrants and the generally corrupt police force went to work accusing and convicting Vita's father and brother of the crime. As they languished in The Tombs, the infamous prison, Vita, Tom, and gifted medium Jadwiga Wisen held a seance with a Ouija board that spelled out "frame" when Jadwiga asked who the true killer was. Frame? Yes, of course, Vita's dad and brother were framed--they were innocent. But when Tom went home and looked at his window frame, it gave him an idea--there's more than one kind of frame. He went to Vita's apartment, inspected her window frame, and discovered clues that led to the arrest of the true killer of his cousin--I won't give away any more!

Purchase FROM HERE TO FOURTEENTH STREET on Amazon

HAPPY HALLOWEEN HEALTHY PUMPKIN CHEESECAKE

Ingredients:
3/4 cup low fat cottage cheese
2/3 cup nonfat plain Greek yogurt
1 tbsp. flour (gluten free if need be)
2 tbsp. honey
1/4 tsp. salt
4 egg whites
2 tbsp. lemon juice
1/2 cup pumpkin puree (not pumpkin pie filling)
1/2 tsp. pumpkin pie spice, no sugar added

Directions:

Place everything in your blender and blend until smooth. Pour into a greased or parchment lined cake pan or a mini scone pan.

Bake at 350 F for 50 minutes.

Optional : When cooled, top with whipped cream 

Enjoy!

1 serving = 1/8 of the entire cake

Carbs: 13 gm

 

 

 

Meet My Fellow Wild Rose Press Author Laura Strickland As She Celebrates The Release of Her New Historical American Romance SLOW TRAIN TO NOWHERE: SEAN

Laura and I are authors with The Wild Rose Press, and when I saw a post about her book, released yesterday, I knew I had to invite her to be my guest here. 

This is my kinda book!

Meet Laura

Multi award-winning author Laura Strickland delights in time traveling to the past and searching out settings for her books, be they Historical Romance, Steampunk or something in between. Married and the parent of one grown daughter, Laura has also been privileged to mother a number of very special rescue dogs, and is intensely interested in animal welfare. Her love of dogs, and her lifelong interest in Celtic history, magic and music, are all reflected in her writing. Laura's mantra is Lore, Legend, Love, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

About SLOW TRAIN TO NOWHERE: SEAN

 Five children from the orphan train. Can the eldest protect the rest?

When Sean Hussey returns to the town where he lived as a boy, it’s with revenge on his mind. He’s made a success of himself out west and intends to get even with the farmer under whose thumb he once suffered. He’ll show mercy only to the others who shared his fate in days gone by, especially sweet Jenny whose memory he still cherishes.

Sarah Rupert hasn’t had it easy growing up as a girl from the orphan train, and as a survivor of shocking abuse. Since the death of her husband, she’s had to support her young son by dubious means. When Sean Hussey comes back into her life it’s a miracle, because he’s the boy she always wanted for her own. Trouble is, Sean just may be in love with another woman.

Excerpt

They talked for a while about the changes in the town and Sean worked on his second drink.

All of a sudden he nodded at the glass in front of her. “Why d’you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Order a drink and just let it sit? You did the same before.”

“I get my drinks for free.”

“But you don’t drink ’em. Why?”

“Want to know the truth?”

His light eyes fastened on her face. “Always.”

“I’m afraid if I start drinking I won’t be able to stop and then the boogie-men from the past will swoop in and get me.”

“Boogie-men?”

“There’s not much keeping them at bay. Just these walls I’ve put up and have to kind of keep in place. If I get tipsy, those walls might fall down.”

He studied her seriously. “Describe these boogie-men to me.”

She didn’t want to. “Can’t. That might invite them in.”

He drew a breath and covered her hand with his where it rested on the table. “Honey—”

“No, Sean. I dare not let ’em in.”

“All right then. I won’t ask nothing more.”

“They’re—they’re like the ones you see in nightmares.”

He shook his head. “I don’t dream much anymore. Used to when we first came here. I used to dream I was back in New York. Running the streets. Looking for my ma.”

“But she died on the way over from Ireland, right?”

“Fancy you remembering that.”

She remembered everything about him.

“Never looked for my pa. Knew where to find him. In a pub. With a glass.” He looked down at his own drink as if startled.

“Right now,” she confided, “I’m living my life for my boy, Luke. All I do is for him.”

“Not for yourself?”

“No.”

“You wanting nothing for yourself—”

Oh, she wanted.

“—don’t seem fair.”

“Were you happy out west, Sean?”

He shrugged uncomfortably. “I don’t think happy describes my state of mind. There were moments when I felt pretty good.”

“Never married?”

“Nah.”

“Never tempted?”

He shook his head.

So he was free. And she was free. For an instant Sarah caught a glimpse of something so wonderful, it dazzled her mind’s eye. He, though, was interested in Jenny, who wasn’t free.

Purchase SLOW TRAIN TO NOWHERE: SEAN

Amazon US

Amazon Canada

Amazon UK

Amazon Australia

B&N

Kobo

iTunes

Goodreads

Connect With Laura

Website

Author Facebook Page

Amazon Page

Goodreads

Twitter, "X"

Laura Strickland Author @LauraSt05038951

Instagram

BookBub