~ FRIDAY FICTION FEATURE ~
Blog Tour Stop
-- 'LITTLE TEA' --
AUTHOR CLAIRE FULLERTON
~Post Includes: Book Spotlight, Excerpt,
Author Bio & Giveaway~
Welcome to the Blog + Review Tour & Giveaway for Little Tea by Claire Fullerton, hosted by JustRead Publicity Tours!
ABOUT THE BOOK
Title: Little TeaAuthor: Claire Fullerton
Publisher: Firefly Southern Fiction
Release Date: May 1, 2020
Genre: Southern Fiction
Southern Culture … Old Friendships … Family Tragedy
One phone call from Renny to come home and “see about” the capricious Ava and Celia Wakefield decides to overlook her distressful past in the name of friendship.
For three reflective days at Renny’s lake house in Heber Springs, Arkansas, the three childhood friends reunite and examine life, love, marriage, and the ties that bind, even though Celia’s personal story has yet to be healed. When the past arrives at the lake house door in the form of her old boyfriend, Celia must revisit the life she’d tried to outrun.
As her idyllic coming of age alongside her best friend, Little Tea, on her family’s ancestral grounds in bucolic Como, Mississippi unfolds, Celia realizes there is no better place to accept her own story than in this circle of friends who have remained beside her throughout the years. Theirs is a friendship that can talk any life sorrow into a comic tragedy, and now that the racial divide in the Deep South has evolved, Celia wonders if her friendship with Little Tea can triumph over history.
EXCERPT FROM 'LITTLE TEA':
The light was always dim in the entrance hall, irrespective of the time
of day. The carved crown molding on its high ceiling matched the dark walnut
wood of the floor and door casings, which glowed in polished rosettes above the
opening to the formal dining room on the right and the ample living room on the
left, with the green-tiled solarium behind it. The entrance hall had a central
catacomb feel and was always the coolest area of the house. In its cavernous
elegance, footsteps were amplified on the maple floors during the months of
June through September, then fell to a muted padding when Mom had Thelonious
haul the crimson-and-navy runner from the attic and place it beneath the
foyer’s round, centered table. At the end of the hall, behind the stairs, was
my father’s den and attendant screened porch, but rarely did I visit the
interior. My father was a private man, reclusive and solitary by nature, and
whether he was in the library or not, the door was always shut. I had to skirt
the gladiola arrangement on the entrance hall table. The floral design reached
wide with flourishing arms toward the French credenzas against both sides of
the walls. My reflection flashed in the ormolu mirror as I ran toward the
stairs to find my mother. My hair crowned me with the color of night’s
crescendo, dashing so dark it almost looked purple. I am 100 percent Wakefield
in all that distinguishes the lineage, from the dark eyes and hair to the
contrasting fair skin. There has never been a Wakefield to escape the familial nose;
it is severe in impression, unambiguous in projection, straight as a line, and
slightly flared. John and I are mirror images of each other, the yin and yang
of the Wakefield, English bloodline. But Hayward was born golden, just like our
mother, who comes from the Scottish Montgomerys, whose birthplace is Ayrshire.
John and I possess an unfortunate atavistic Wakefield trait, though on me the
black shadow is a ready silence, but on him it plays out as something sinister.
John and I are individual variations of our father’s dark countenance, which is
to say in our own way we are loners. People slightly removed. But Hayward got
lucky, in possessing our mother’s shining essence. I could always see an
internal light in their green eyes that set off their amber-colored
hair.
I put my hand on the thick banister and climbed the stairs to the first
landing, where my parents’ bedroom and living quarters unfurled like wings. The
bay window overlooking the garden had its draperies drawn against the searing,
silver sun. Walking into the sitting room at the right, I called for my mother,
thinking she may be in the adjoining master bedroom. “I’m upstairs,” her voice
descended. “Celia, come up. I want to see you.”
I mounted the stairs to the third-floor landing and found my mother
perched lightly on the sofa in the alcove that served as a central area for the
other four bedrooms. Behind her, sunlight filtered through the organza window
treatments, highlighting the red in her hair. Her slender hands held a three-ringed
binder of fabric swatches, the swatch on top a cool, blue toile. She patted the
seat beside her and I settled softly. My mother was cultivated, circumspect,
and radiated a porcelain femininity. Always, in my mother’s presence, I gentled
myself to her calm self-possession. In my heart of hearts, it was my hope that
the apple didn’t fall far from the proverbial tree.
“Tell me,” she said, “what do you think of this fabric for your
draperies? We could paint the walls a light robin’s egg and put white on the
molding. I think it’d be divine.” She looked around the room as if seeing it
for the first time. “It’s time we got rid of the wallpaper in there. You’re
growing up.” She laid her ivory hand on my cheek. “You’ll want this eventually.
I think now’s a good time.”
I knew enough of my mother’s ways to know she was engaged in preamble.
She was practiced at the art of delivery by discreet maneuver, and I suspected
her impulse to transform my room had hidden meaning. “Why is now a good time?”
My mother looked in my eyes and spoke softly. “Celia, I’m telling
you before I tell Hayward because I don’t want this to come from him. Your
father’s going to be taking a job in Memphis, so we’ll be moving.”
“We’re moving to Memphis?” I gasped.
“Yes, honey. You’ll be starting school at Immaculate Conception
in September,” she answered. “You know the school; its attendant to the big
cathedral on Central Avenue.”
“But that’s a Catholic school, Mom. I thought we were
Episcopalian.”
“We are, honey, but it’s highly rated academically. Your father and I
think being exposed to a different religion will broaden your mind and give you
beautiful advantages. We can come back here any weekend we want, and you’ll
have a brand-new room when we do. You’ll have the best of both worlds, you’ll
see. You’ll make new friends in Memphis, and Little Tea will still be here. It
won’t be a drastic change at all. Try to think of it as an addition. There now,
sweetie, don’t make that face. It isn’t the end of the world.”
But it was for me; Memphis intimidated me. Memphis was the big
city compared to Como, and I found it cacophonous and unpredictable in its
patchwork design. There was a disjointed, disharmonious feel to the city, what
with its delineated racial relations. Parts of town were autocratic in their
mainstay of Caucasian imperiousness and there were dilapidated, unlucky parts
of town considered dangerous, which a white person never chanced. This much I’d
learned on my visits to my grandparents’ house near the lake in Central
Gardens. Blacks and whites never comingled in Memphis, even though they did
coexist. But there was an impenetrable wall that separated the races, and I’d
been raised in a footloose environment where it didn’t matter so
much.
I took my teary eyes and sinking stomach to my bedroom so my mother
wouldn’t see me cry. Through the window over the driveway, I watched as Hayward
and Little Tea threw a stick for Rufus. I hadn’t the heart to run tell them our
lives were about to end.
***************************
PURCHASE LINKS*: Goodreads | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Book Depository
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Claire Fullerton hails from Memphis, TN. and now lives in Malibu, CA. with her husband and 3 German shepherds. She is the author of Mourning Dove, a coming of age, Southern family saga set in 1970's Memphis. Mourning Dove is a five-time award winner, including the Literary Classics Words on Wings for Book of the Year, and the Ippy Award silver medal in regional fiction ( Southeast.) Claire is also the author of Dancing to an Irish Reel, a Kindle Book Review and Readers' Favorite award winner that is set on the west coast of Ireland, where she once lived. Claire's first novel is a paranormal mystery set in two time periods titled, A Portal in Time, set in Carmel-by-the-Sea, California. She is a contributor to the book, A Southern Season with her novella, Through an Autumn Window, set at a Memphis funeral ( because something always goes wrong at a Southern funeral.)
Little Tea is Claire's 4th novel and is set in the Deep South. It is the story of the bonds of female friendship, healing the past, and outdated racial relations. Little Tea is the August selection of the Pulpwood Queens, a Faulkner Society finalist in the William Wisdom international competition, and on the long list of the Chanticleer Review's Somerset award. She is represented by Julie Gwinn of the Seymour Literary Agency. https://www.clairefullerton.com
CONNECT WITH CLAIRE:
Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram
TOUR GIVEAWAY
(1) winner will receive an ebook copy of Little Tea and $5 Amazon gift card!
Be sure to check out each stop on the tour for more chances to win. Full tour schedule linked below. Giveaway will begin at midnight June 8, 2020 and last through 11:59 PM EST on June 15, 2020. Winner will be notified within 2 weeks of close of the giveaway and given 48 hours to respond or risk forfeiture of prize. Void where prohibited by law or logistics.
Giveaway is subject to the policies found here.
Follow along at JustRead Tours for a full list of stops!
*NOTE: This post contains affiliate links.
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Little Tea sounds like a must read. Thank you for hosting.
ReplyDeleteSounds like a great book.
ReplyDelete