Kindle Edition Amazon EMA Chronicles CreateSpace Books-A-Million Category:  Drama Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing ISBN-10:  1490416439 Type: Fiction Pages: 286 Copyright: June 11, 2013 ISBN-13: 9781490416434 Rosemary Creek is one of the most hated women in Savannah and she loves it. Can anyone put a stop to the vicious deeds of the Lady of the Manor? Richard Creek finally took a stand against his sexually abusive mother, Rosemary, in the fall of 1929, leading to three decades of her merciless tyranny. Now, he has to protect his children from the omnipotent hand of the Lady of the Manor while they dwell beneath the same roof. Tensions overflow in this atypical home in Savannah, Georgia during the blazing summer of 1958.  Excerpt She picked up a large silver bucket and emptied it into an old copper tub. The tub was six feet in length and held some of the iciest well water that you’ll ever find in Savannah at that time of the year. It was drawn from one of the deepest wells in Chatham County. The well had been dug out in the backyard, nearly twenty yards from the back porch. She walked over to the corner and set the bucket down with the little dent facing outward, always facing outward. “I guess it would help if you added the hot water, Rosemary,” she muttered to herself. Rosemary went back to the corner and took the silver bucket over to the fireplace. She had a black, cast-iron cauldron of water boiling over a wooden fire. She could never fill it to the brim because of an inch long crack at the top that had been there since she was a child. Rosemary repeatedly dipped the bucket into the scalding hot water, emptying it into the copper tub until it was nearly full. The steam glazed over the lone window until no one could see in or out. She walked the bucket back over to its natural habitat, dent facing outward. Rosemary grabbed a brown jug of iodine and poured a quart of it into the tub. Then, she took a little swig in her mouth, swooshed it around, and spat into the tub. “Now, it’s ready. Richard! Bath time!” He hated those words. It was like the sound a buck hears, slightly before the bullet enters his flesh. He opened the door and slowly peeped inside. “Come in, Richard. It’s time to get clean.” Once a week, Richard had to participate in the dreaded bath time. He walked slowly toward the tub and stood there, gazing into the water. “Can’t I do it myself, mother?” He asked, knowing what her answer would be. “Nonsense!” She always replied. “You’re merely a baby. Now, strip off those clothes and get in.” He completely undressed and put his left foot into the water, letting out a yelp. “It’s too hot, mother.” “Nonsense, it’s always the same every week. Now, get in.” He stood in the water for a long minute, and then slowly settled into the copper tub. “It’s burning, mother. Why is it stinging? “I saw where you scraped your elbow and got that cut on your leg. So, I added iodine into the water.” “I have to get out. It hurts.” “Nonsense; it will pass. Sit back and soak your body real good while I get the soap.” She had a large chunk of homemade lye soap on a shelf. Rosemary grabbed a handful of it; the door flung open. “Did you have enough water, Rosemary?” A smooth, gangly man stood in the doorway. “Yes,” she responded without looking around. “Father, how was work today?” “Terrible,” he replied. “This economy is destroying people’s lives. It may take years for this country to recover.” “Nonsense, Eugene,” Rosemary turned around. “This stock market will rebound within another month.” “I don’t think so, Rosey. They say it completely crashed. Lots of folks lost everything. People are out there killing themselves.” “People with no faith. As great as the twenties have been, you people panic over one day in the stock market. Nonsense!” “If you say so. Why don’t you give Richard that soap and come sit with me in the den? I set on a bit of tea.” “I can’t leave this child alone in a tub of water. He might drown. Do you think me an unfit mother?” “I assure you; he won’t drown, Rosemary. Don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic?” “Of course not, E.H. I mustn’t risk it. I insist on being here. The Lady of the Manor has spoken.” “Sorry, Richard; I tried. When the lady has spoken; she has spoken.” “Keep the tea hot, dear.” “Of course, Rosey,” he shook his head in disgust, wishing he would do more but knowing he wouldn’t. He was frustrated with his wife, but even more disappointed in himself. “Close the door, darling.” He slammed it shut. “Why can’t I wash myself, mother dearest?” “You are a little child, Richard. Children don’t know how to wash themselves. You just sit back and let mother scrub the dirt and filth from your body.” “But all the other boys my age bathe themselves.” “Nonsense. Now, hand me that cloth rag and relax.” She took the rag from his hand and squeezed the water down his back and shoulders. Richard stared at the little dent on the silver bucket and clinched his fists. She rubbed the rag on the lye soap and began to scrub the back of his neck and behind his ears. “Such a dirty little boy. How do young boys attract such filth?” Richard closed his eyes. He could still see that silver bucket in his mind, dent always outward. Rosemary began to cleanse his chest, stomach, and back. His eyes remained shut. “I met a girl today, mother. She was quite lovely.” He tried anything to take his mind off this bath. “Nonsense. You’re much too young for courting.” “Mother, I’m fourteen years old. I’m quite old enough for a relationship. The other boys in my grade have girlfriends. It’s 1929; times are different.” “Nonsense. Remember this and remember it well. All girls are evil. They’ll use you for your money, cheat on you, and lie on you and to you. Never trust a female, Richard.” “You’re a female.” “Don’t be silly. I’m your mother. Now, lift up your feet.” She took the rag and rubbed the bottom of his feet, then between his toes. She washed his legs up toward the thighs. Richard’s eyes had remained closed. “Please, mother; let me wash the rest.” “Never. Only I can clean you correctly. Otherwise, you will miss spots. Now, open your legs.” Richard stared at the bucket’s dent one last time before clenching his eyes again. He opened his legs, slowly and reluctantly. She reached down into the water with the ragged, soapy piece of cloth and began to clean his genitalia. They both knew that ‘cleaning’ was the least of her concerns at this point. As tightly as he clenched his eyelids, he couldn’t keep the tears from seeping through and gliding down his cheeks into the milky water. She eventually dropped the rag and continued with her hand. He cried even harder, trying to focus his mind on the dent in the silver bucket. She broke his concentration with a light voice. “Who’s Rosemary’s baby?” She whispered in his ear. He refused to answer, pretending not to hear. “Who’s Rosemary’s baby?” She slowed her strokes and softened her whisper. His slow tears turned into a speedy sob. “Please stop, mother.” “Nonsense,” Rosemary continued to whisper. “Mother must finish cleaning her special, special boy. Now, tell me who is Rosemary’s baby and we’ll be done.” “I am,” the sobbing turned into full-blown crying. “I am Rosemary’s baby.” “Stand up,” she stopped rubbing him. He stood in the tub, still erect from being molested. “My, how you grow with each week. You have surpassed your father; I do believe.” His eyes never opened as ‘mommy dearest’ went for the towel. She began to dry him off, beginning with the upper body. Rosemary worked her way down to the buttocks, then around to her target area. She began to stroke him with the towel as she had with the tattered rag. He withstood as much as he could before he snatched the towel from her hands. “No more!” Richard covered his nakedness with the towel. He kept his eyes shut. “This is the last time you will put your filthy hands on me, mother!” “Nonsense. However will you get clean?” “I’ll bathe myself. I am perfectly capable.” “You’ll do no such thing.” “Either that or I shall run away. I want a tub in my room and a lock on the inside of my door.” “That’s…” “Nonsense?” He interrupted her. “Is it, mother? Is it, really? Does it really seem like nonsense that I desire my privacy?” “I suppose not,” she stood up from her knees. “But…” “Either that or I leave.” “Okay, Richard. I don’t want you to leave me, ever. As long as you are here, I shall never touch you again.” “I need to dry off and get dressed…alone.” “Okay,” Rosemary opened the door. “I only did what I did because I love you, Richard. When you’re ready for me again, I’ll meet you here. Empty the tub when you’re done.” She closed the door behind her. “I may not touch you again, Richard, but I will make your life a miserable hell until you let me,” she muttered to herself as she walked down the hall. Downstairs, Eugene was pouring hot tea into two porcelain cups. He squeezed the juice of a half a lemon into each cup, along with two teaspoons of sugar. He set the cups, pitcher, and Rosemary’s oatmeal raisin cookies on a silver platter and brought them into the den. They were sitting on a mahogany coffee table when Rosemary entered the room. She grabbed a cup and sat in silence. Eugene nibbled on a cookie, trying to figure out how to start the conversation. “It isn’t right, Rosemary. It’s got to stop.” “I can’t help myself, E.H. It’s all I know.” “Doesn’t matter. A son’s worth can go no further than a mother’s trust will guide him. It can’t happen anymore.” “It won’t. I promised him that I wouldn’t touch him again.” “Do you mean that, Rosey?” “I have no choice. He threatened to run away from me. I can’t lose my baby.” She sipped her tea in silence for a while, staring into the fireplace. Eugene picked up his cup and followed suit. She knew that the urge would come up sooner or later. If she couldn’t touch Richard, she’d have to find someone else until she could. She finally broke the calm, “You know I don’t care much for this tea. Have Caruthers put on a pot of coffee.” “He’s already left for the night.” “Oh bother,” she continued to sip her tea, saying nothing else till they went to sleep. Upstairs, Richard finally managed to pry his eyes open. He was still standing naked in the water, holding the towel. He vomited into the tub as he had done after every other episode with his mother. The thought of her hands on him always made him puke. He slowly dried himself, shaking all the while. Then, he grabbed the silver bucket. He began filling the bucket with tub water, pouring it down a chute that led to a water trough outside of the house. Richard couldn’t help but notice the little dent on the bucket. He had only noticed it the first time she had molested him two years prior. It was the roaring twenties, but for him it hadn’t been that much fun. He knew that he would have never run away, but it was the only viable threat he could think of, other than murder. But, he knew he could never kill his mother. Richard poured the last bit of water out and set the bucket on the floor. He hung the towel and rag up on nails and slipped into his long johns. He sat on the oak wood floor, back to the tub, eyes red from crying. He decided to leave the ring of vomit and dirt around the tub. If she wanted it clean, she could do it herself. He planned to never use it or the room again. Richard caught sight of the silver bucket out of the corner of his eye. He punched it over and over until his knuckles bled. He picked it up and walked over to the window, intending to toss it outside. He hesitated for a moment, and then walked it back over to its proper place. Richard spun it in his hands over and over as if the dent might somehow change. Then, he set it down in that same corner that it had always resided, dent facing outward, always outward.

Book Lovin Alicia
http://booklovinalicia.blogspot.com/2015/03/lady-of-manor-by-adrian-heflin.html


"Lady of the Manor" by Adrian Heflin. I just have to talk about this book. I received a free copy from NetGalley to read, honestly review, and recommend. Those not familiar with NetGalley, it is a website for readers where booksellers, publishers, librarians, educators, reviewers, and bloggers can request books to read and review, often times before the books are published. While browsing through books I came across this one and it sounded really good! I love stories about the south. Especially ones with deep, dark family secrets. This is that kind of book. I was approved to read it and started yesterday. From the moment I downloaded and started reading I was hooked. Laundry, dishes, feeding children, vacuuming the house, etc was on the back burner (FYI- I am not a horrible mother and did clean house and feed my children yesterday). This book sucked me in from the very first chapter. It has characters you hate, characters you like, and plot twists that will leave you with your jaw open. When I say "dark family secrets" I mean it. Heflin (the author) doesn't mess around! After less than a day I am about 36% through it. And I can't wait to read more today! I highly suggest picking up a copy! Amazon has the paperback and Kindle edition for less than $10 here. I know I'm not finished with the book. I'm not even halfway through it yet. I do have a really good feeling that I will love this book all the way until the end though! Happy Reading!



Posted by Alicia at 8:20 AM



PashaRu
November, 1929. Savannah, Georgia. In an upstairs room, Rosemary Creek is bathing her naked 14-year-old son Richard. While whispering “Who is Rosemary’s baby?” she molests him. This happens often. He protests, screws his eyes closed, sobs, but still becomes erect from the physical stimulation. He demands that she stop for good, or he will run away from home. She acquiesces and finally leaves the room. Closing the door, she vows to herself to make his life a miserable hell until he again permits her to indulge her perverted desires. Trembling, sobbing, naked, and erect, he vomits into the bathwater.

This is Chapter One of Lady of the Manor by author Adrian Heflin. Published in 2013, it’s available for Kindle and in paperback from both Amazon and Barnes & Noble. And if this scene makes you queasy, you might not want to read this book. Because this is just the beginning.

Fast forward almost 30 years to the summer of 1958. Richard, now married with five children, lives with his family in Creek Manor, the same house where those unspeakable events took place so long ago. It is still his mother’s house. She still lives there, too. Rosemary Creek is, in fact, the Lady of the Manor. And she is as evil a woman as has ever tainted the pages of literature. This is the story of Richard, his wife Helen, and their five teenage children: twin daughters Hilary and Taylor, Kimberly, and sons Reginald and Brock. They live under the ever-present dark cloud of her iron dominance and pernicious manipulation of everyone. Add a supporting cast of butler, friends, relatives, and neighbors who live in the poison shadow of this wealthy family matriarch, and it is a tale of three generations of dirty family secrets and lies – including incest, infidelity and murder – in grand old southern style. Except nothing is secret from Rosemary. She seems almost omniscient. She knows what everyone does and where everyone goes. She knows what people will do before they do it. She knows everyone’s secrets, from Kimberly’s hidden stash of trashy novels to Reginald and Brock frequenting a local whorehouse. And she uses these secrets as blackmail – yes, against her own progeny – to retain her control over everyone within her sphere of influence. Will the family – and practically all of Savannah, through which her inimical tendrils seem to slither endlessly – ever be rid of her foul, noxious influence? Or will they discover her better nature and coax her, by degrees, to change into a lovable mother and grandmother?

Adrian Heflin has created a compelling and memorable, although loathsome, antagonist in his principle and titular character, Rosemary Creek. She is shockingly cruel to everyone. She is vicious and stone-hearted virtually through and through. She cares for no one, and is ruthless and insulting to everyone. Because love is weakness. Kindness is weakness. Knowledge is power. Control is through fear. There is no treachery or debauchery of which this woman is not capable. Really. You’ll be surprised. Her character is easily the strongest and most dominant in the book, and, although not multi-dimensional, very well drawn. (In this, I was reminded of Cathy in East of Eden. If evil had a face, and it was female, then this is it.)

To a greater or lesser degree the other characters are well drawn. The most likable and best developed are the three daughters. They are typical sisters, arguing and picking at one another, but they are all sweet in their own way. The author takes care to sculpt each girl carefully. Their scenes are some of the most enjoyable in the book, and this is partly because they are so distinctively portrayed. Their love interests and the accompanying dialogue feel real and natural. Their conflicts with grandmother are tense, caustic, and uncomfortable. The two sons are well developed as well, but to a lesser degree; their characters become slightly less interesting as the story progresses. The mother, Helen, is not a standout character.

I was disappointed with the portrayal of the father, Richard. It is not until the last few chapters that he comes into his own and we get a chance to know him. Until then, he remains shrouded by his cigar smoke, so to speak, and we are left wondering who he really is. It’s not that he’s weak and dominated by his iron-fisted mother. He just “isn’t.” A chance is lost to create an intriguing and conflicted character – one who has been subjected to horrors at the hand of his own mother, bears the concomitant emotional and psychological scars, but at the same time must be strong enough to protect his own family from a similar fate. Richard remains an emerging silhouette, a mid-stage character through much of this book. He could have been so much more.

Other characters – relatives, friends, boyfriends, neighbors, townsfolk – are adequately handled; some are painted with more careful brushstrokes than others. Extended family relationships are described in some detail, and it becomes a bit confusing trying to keep track of uncles, aunts, cousins, in-laws, etc. But since this is a story built around a family and their many skeletons in the closet, I felt compelled to try to figure out and remember which closet each respective relative and skeleton belongs in. This was a bit distracting.

The plot is mostly well handled, with needed information added by degrees. Admittedly, some plot elements were, for me, a little hard to swallow. The pacing picks up in the last quarter of the book, as it should, and as the story moves to the climax, it becomes harder to put down and walk away from. The ending is satisfying if not a bit unrealistic, as all the loose ends are tied up, but perhaps just a bit too tidily.

Mechanically, there are a few errors. There are more than a few misplaced and unnecessary commas and a misspelled word or two. Overall, though, it is relatively problem free. Mr. Heflin’s writing is not overly impressive or creative, but it is also not distractingly bad. It gets the job done. I saw flashes of very good descriptive writing, but these are few and far between. It’s a very dialogue-rich story and, thankfully, he writes dialogue well; it flows easily and naturally. In at least one instance the narrative switches to second person perspective, which feels amateurish.

This is not a pleasant story, but it is not wholly unsatisfying. We don’t see the better side of most of the characters until relatively late in the narrative. Overall, the story is well written and well told. This book would appeal to anyone who likes stories spanning several generations, with all the accompanying buried and dirty family secrets. There are elements of strained race relations with the expected vocabulary (it is Georgia in the 1950s, after all) and a definite southern atmosphere is evoked. It’s not suitable for children; there is frequent sexual activity including rape and, as mentioned, some pedophilia, although the descriptions are not too graphic. I think there were missed opportunities to more deeply explore some of the characters, and the writing, while an adequate vehicle to transport the story, is not impressively good. For these reasons, I rate Lady of the Manor 3 out of 4 stars.










Jessyca Garcia
Lady of the Manor by Adrian Q. Heflin is my favorite kind of book. Not since V.C. Andrew’s book Flowers in the Attic have I read about so much family drama and so many secrets. The story follows the lives of the Creek family. Rosemary Creek, the evil matriarch, forces her son and his family to live with her in her manor in order to stay in her will. The manor is home to thirty years of dark family secrets. Every member of Rosemary’s family, as well as the whole town, hates her with a passion but Lady of the Manor by Adrian Q. Heflin is my favorite kind of book. Not since V.C. Andrew’s book Flowers in the Attic have I read about so much family drama and so many secrets. The story follows the lives of the Creek family. Rosemary Creek, the evil matriarch, forces her son and his family to live with her in her manor in order to stay in her will. The manor is home to thirty years of dark family secrets. Every member of Rosemary’s family, as well as the whole town, hates her with a passion but is too scared to go against her orders.

I thought Lady of the Manor was a fantastic, drama filled book. Reading about another family’s drama always makes me appreciate my own family. Especially after reading about all of Rosemary Creek’s dark secrets. My absolute favorite thing about this book was all of the secrets. Some of those secrets were absolutely shocking which made it hard to put down the book in case another secret was coming. Heflin is a genius when it comes to putting twists and turns in a story. I loved how Heflin gave every character a background story telling of where they came from. I also liked that every character in this book had a secret.

Lady of the Manor is the type of book that I will read over again just to make sure that I did not miss any secrets. I definitely recommend this book to anyone who is a V.C. Andrews fan. I am talking about the original V.C. Andrews, not the ghost writer who is far too innocent for my tastes. There is no reason why this book should not be on a best seller list.
*I reviewed this book for Reader's Favorite