Interview with historical mystery author Nancy M Bell

Mystery novelist Nancy M Bell is with me today to chat about her new historical novel, Discarded.

During her virtual book tour, Nancy will be giving away a $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble (winner’s choice) gift card to a lucky randomly drawn winner. To be entered for a chance to win, use the form below. To increase your chances of winning, feel free to visit her other tour stops and enter there, too!

Bio:
Nancy lives near Balzac, Alberta with her husband and various critters. She is a member of the Writers Guild of Alberta and the Canadian Authors Association. Nancy has presented at the Surrey International Writers Conference, at the Writers Guild of Alberta Conference, When Words Collide and Word on the Lake. She has publishing credits in poetry, fiction, and non-fiction. Her work has been included in Tamaracks Canadian Poetry for the 21^st Century and Vistas of the West Anthology of Poetry. Her poetry is also being included by the University of Holguin Cuba in their Canada Cuba Literary Alliance (CCLA) program. Her latest novel, Discarded, released September 1st.

Welcome, Nancy. Please tell us about your current release.
When the British arrived in Winnipeg in the 1800s it was convenient for the men to take Metis wives. They were called a la vacon du pays – according to the custom of the country. These women bore the brunt of ensuring survival in the harsh environment. Without them the British army and fur traders would not have survived the brutal winters. However, as society evolved it became accepted that wives must be white, schooled in British ways, fashionable in the European sense and married by the Anglican church. The Metis wives and their ‘country born’ offspring were thrown out and forced to fend for themselves. The unrepentant husbands continued to live comfortably with their ‘new’ wives. It was inevitable that some discarded wives did not accept their fate quietly and hard feelings on both sides were unavoidable. When the bodies of two discarded Metis wives, Marguerite and Marie-Anne, are found discovered bludgeoned to death on a cold Winnipeg street, Guilliame Mousseau, sets out to get to the bottom of his sisters’ murder.

What inspired you to write this book?
The publisher, BWL Publishing Inc. commissioned a collection of Canadian Historical Mysteries with one novel set in each province and territory. I was assigned to Manitoba and I thought what better backdrop for a mystery than the winter of the Riel Rebellion of December 1869. A lot of research later and the story of Guilliame’s search for his sisters’ murder came to life.

Excerpt from Discarded:
from Chapter One

“Marguerite, you must go to him. Ètienne needs medicine, the fever is eating him up,” Marie Anne urged her sister.

The younger woman shook her head, wringing out a cloth in cold water to soothe her child. “How can I? The English woman, she is there now, I doubt Miles will even speak to me.”

“He must, Ètienne is his son!” Marie-Anne insisted.

“No longer.” The words were bitter. “He has disowned the bebes and me, discarded us like so much offal. Now that his fancy English lady has arrived.”

“Still, Marguerite, you must go and ask. I will come with you. Together we will convince your Miles to either send the British doctor or give us money for the medicine.” Anne Marie pulled the dripping cloth from Marguerite’s hand and threw it on the pounded earth floor. “Look at him! You cannot just let him die. If you won’t go yourself, I will go in your stead.”

Marie-Anne whirled around, grabbing two thick shawls from the back of a chair, and wrapping them around her shoulders. She planted her hands on her hips and glared at her sister. “Are you coming?”

“Yes, oui, of course. I know you are right. It is just my pride that stops me. For how long was I his wife in every sense of the word? If not for me, and you, and others like us, those soft Englishmen would never have survived their first winter. It was our relatives who brought them buffalo and other provisions to see them through, and us who cared for them, chopped wood, carried the water, bore their children…” Marguerite broke off, her throat closing in frustration and sorrow for all that they’d lost. Angrily, she swiped the moisture from her cheeks and straightened her back. “Come, we go. Alexandre! Come watch your brother while I go to your papa to ask for help.”

The older boy poked the dying fire one more time before crossing the small room. He picked the sodden cloth up from the floor and wrung it out. After rinsing it with some water from the bucket by the bed, he wiped his little brother’s face.

“Maman, he’s burning up.” Alex looked up at her. “Will Papa come and take him to the doctor? Why hasn’t he come to see us lately?”

“Your papa will not be coming, nor will he take Ètienne to the doctor. The best we can hope for is that he will send the doctor or at least make provision for the apothecary to give me some medicine for him. I have tried the best I can with the willow bark, but it isn’t enough.”

“Will Ètienne die like Elizabeth?” Alex glanced at the empty cradle still sitting by the hearth.

“Not if I can help it,” Anne Marie promised. She took Marguerite’s arm and pulled her toward the door. “Put this on against the cold.” She thrust a Hudson’s Bay blanket into the other woman’s arms.

“Oui, yes, we must go. You are right.” Marguerite wrapped the woolen blanket tightly around her, and after one last look at her children, followed her sister out into the bitter wind blowing down the Red River, howling around the eaves of the small buildings and sending snow flying into their faces.

Alex’s last words echoed in Marguerite’s head as she shouldered her way against the wind. “Tell Papa I miss him.” She snorted, as if Miles cared about them anymore. Even little Elizabeth, dead at six months of age, hadn’t moved him to contribute to her burial. It was the English woman’s fault. She was the one who turned Miles against them. Charlotte Windfield, what sort of name was Charlotte anyway? Grief stabbed her for a moment, not Windfield anymore, oh no. Miles married the salope in the church two weeks ago. So now she was Charlotte Ashmore. Lady Ashmore, the pute.

“Marguerite, come on, hurry up.” Anne Marie looked over her shoulder and waited for her sister to catch up.

“Sorry, the wind is stealing my breath.”

“Here, take my arm. It’s only a little way more. Surely Miles will ask us in and let us get warm before we go on.”

The walk from the Metis community to the more substantial homes of the British and Scottish population was a long one on a good day, for the two women walking into the teeth of the northwest wind it seemed interminable. Marguerite pulled Anne Marie to a halt in the lee of the church.

“A moment, I need to catch my breath,” she said, also needing to strengthen her resolve not to do damage to either Lord Ashmore, her erstwhile husband, or the English salope now ensconced in the fancy house just up the street.

“A moment, then. But we mustn’t waste time. Come.” Anne Marie grasped her arm and towed her sister out of the lee of the building into the wind once more.

Marguerite led the way up the path to the front door, pausing before the two steps up to the porch to take a deep breath and straighten the blanket around her shoulders. Head held high, she mounted the steps and rapped loudly on the door. Anne Marie hovered at her side; shoulders hunched against the wind.

“Yes?” Lord Ashmore’s man servant opened the door.

“I need to speak with Miles. Immediately.” Marguerite blinked in the light spilling over the man’s shoulder.

“I’m afraid that is impossible. You should know better than to come here where you are not welcome.” He made disapproving noises with his tongue and made to shut the door, his strong London East End accent making it difficult for her to understand him.

“No!” Anne Marie thrust forward and stuck her foot in the door. “A child’s life is at stake. We must speak with Lord Ashmore.”

What exciting project are you working on next?
I’m currently working on a stand-alone YA that wraps up some loose ends from my two YA series: The Cornwall Adventures and The Alberta Adventures. Laurel Rowan is the main character in this series and in this last book titled Laurel’s Choice, she is Cornwall as a working student at a three day event barn. I love the cover for this one, it’s a grey horse with rider over a cross country obstacle. In this book Laurel will finally chose between the two young men who desire her. Will she choose her Cornish best friend Coll, or her childhood friend Chance?

When did you first consider yourself a writer?
I’ve always been a writer, but it wasn’t until I got traditionally published in 2010 that I felt like a bonafide writer. I think we all suffer from imposer syndrome to some extent. The urge to put words on paper has always been with me and I’m so happy I get to do that and share my stories with others.

Do you write full-time? If so, what’s your workday like? If not, what do you do other than write and how do you find time to write?
I do write full time. I’m retired now so that gives me the freedom to follow my heart’s desire. My day starts with taking the dog for a walk, feeding him, checking on the horses and the water trough, then feed the cats, clean the litter. Make tea and then I sit down to write. I usually write for a couple of hours and then take a break before going back at it. If I’m in the research stage of a novel, then the writing time becomes me going down rabbit holes in the internet while delving into the many and varied avenues one needs to follow while pursuing just the right information that can be used in the actual manuscript.

What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?
I like to write in the depths of the night. Anything between one and four in the morning seems to be the time my muse most likes to wake me up and chase me to the computer.

As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?
A nurse for a while, then I wanted to run a farm for rescued horses. And I always wanted to be a writer.

Anything additional you want to share with the readers?
Some encouragement for anyone out there who wants to write. Just do it! We all hold magic inside us, allow yours to break out and run free on your screen or paper.

For all you readers out there…God bless you. Without you there would be no books on the shelves because no retailer would have a need to provide them. Thank you from the bottom of my heart and please keep reading.

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