Becoming Mrs. Smith: A heartwarming tale of love, life, and friendship in small town America during WWII

Book 1: The Smith Family Series

by Tanya E Williams

Genres: Coming of Age; Epistolary Fiction; Family Life; Historical Fiction; World War II; Women's Fiction

Synopsis

Not all of war's destruction takes place on the battlefield.

A heart warming tale of love, life, and friendship. Becoming Mrs. Smith is sure to transport you back in time to pre-war, small town America where a young couple's love story begins to unfold.

Violet's heart flutters from the scarlet fever she survived as a child, and it beats faster at the sight of John Smith, the man she plans to marry. America is entrenched in WWII, and when John enlists, Violet is certain she won't ever forgive him for dashing their dreams. As the realities of war slowly overtake her life, Violet's days are filled with uncertainty and grief. She struggles to maintain her faith in John, as the world as she knows it, crumbles around her.

Becoming Mrs. Smith is a beautifully written, emotionally charged novella that paints a vivid picture of the life and times of America's home front during World War II. The inspiring, and at times, heartbreaking story of a woman's struggle to reclaim what she lost is both poignant and heartfelt. War stole the man she loves, and childhood illness weakened her heart--perhaps beyond repair. While guns rage in Europe, the war Violet faces at home may be even more devastating.

 

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Release date: October 5, 2017

Publisher: Rippling Effects

Print pages: 148

Sample

February 1935

The walls of the old farmhouse quiver. Thump. Thump. Thump. The sound reverberates inside of me with each strike against our solid oak door. My in- sides shake like a ground tremor. Until now, I couldn’t have believed my body could shake any more brutally. This cruel and ruthless fever has vibrated inside of me since before yesterday’s sunrise. Doc Walton and his hammer, the cause of all the commotion, have traveled from Cedar Springs. He has since confirmed Mother’s fears. Scarlet fever has attacked our home and invaded my slight, now fragile body. The notice nailed to the front door is both a proclamation of quarantine and a warning. Those who enter or leave the Sanderson property will be reported and punished by South Dakota law.

At eleven years old, I’m not keen to lift my nightdress for the doctor. Mother’s stern gaze, which bores through me from the corner of the bedroom I share with Iris, tells me refusing is not an option. My skin, warm to the touch, shivers as air whispers across the tiny red bumps. The doctor listens to my heart with his instrument, the round metal end cold from winter frost, before he lowers my bedclothes and tucks me into bed. He murmurs to himself as he pats my shoulder and smiles sadly, before the latch on his black bag snaps shut.

Mother follows close behind him. He tosses into the fire the slender piece of smooth, pale wood he pressed against my tongue. Mother closes the bedroom door to their muffled voices.

Exhaustion overwhelms me, and I sink deeper under the weighted quilts, seeking warmth and stillness for my unsettled body. Father’s deep voice, even at a whisper, echoes through my window. I hear him and the doctor speaking, despite the thick layer of fabric Mother has placed over the glass to shield the room from light and cold. Their hushed voices sound serious, and their words drift over the front porch to my red-hot ears.

Without a doubt, I am ill. Even if I survive the fever, the doctor worries about the strain on my heart. I bury myself deeper in the heavy cocoon of blankets while my warm breath heats the darkened sanctuary. Tinges of despair overcome me. Fear, instead of fever, ushers in a fresh vibration that leaves my body in a tangled heap of shivers.

I demand my body to heal. First I pray, and then I negotiate. If I could somehow put more love in my heart, perhaps it would grow strong again. I promise to do all my chores without complaint for the rest of my life. I will be patient with Iris, even when she makes me want to scream. I will never roll my eyes at Mother for as long as I live.

Before sleep descends over me again, I plead with God to make me well. I promise to live a simple life. I will never wish for extravagance, if only He will save me from the fever.