Kindle Edition Download from Smashwords (eBook) Amazon Amazon.com or Smashwords.com Category:  Fantasy Publisher: self ISBN-10:  0615689442 Type: Fiction Pages: 290 Copyright: 2012 ISBN-13: 9780615689449 A woman on a book tour is trapped in a small Nebraska town with a sinister innkeeper. Her only way out is to follow a shepherd on a perilous journey. Sheridan, an anthropologist forced off I 80 by a thick fog lands in the town of Hidden. Street, the only street in town, is five blocks long. Few residents reside in the town and none give her satisfactory answers to her questions. Why can't she find her way back out? Why can't she trust Catch the innkeeper?   She is told of Shepherd and imagines him to be somewhat of a star, mayor of the town. When he does show up, he is a simple shepherd. However, he is the only one who can lead her out of Hidden. The journey will take them through unimaginable terrain and occurances.  They set and eat fish in a beautiful meadow, acid spitting evils plague them in the canyon and a death shadow hovers, they climb a mountain with continued surprises as they trek onward. This Christian fantasy is rated with four and five start reviews on Amazon.com wher it is available for Kindle and in Print. It is also available on Smashwords.com for other electronic formats. Excerpt Chapter 1: The Inn Sheridan woke up alongside a country road where a thick late afternoon fog forced her off the highway the evening before. The unseasonable blinding whiteness was eerie, but not unheard of in Nebraska. The mist took over so quickly the exit almost disappeared from view before she turned onto a Nebraska back road. She’d been headed to a book signing for her novel “Living Bedouin.” She wiped the sleep from her eyes. Every muscle stiff and sore, even with her slight five-foot-four inch frame, curling up in the back seat of her minivan made her feel cramped. Peeling her sticky, thick tongue from the roof of her mouth made the icky taste even more like rotten food. She fished through her bag for a bottle of water. Finding it, she swished some around in her mouth then opened the window to spit into the heavy fog. Reading the map, she determined she must be within thirty miles to Lincoln. The fog hadn’t lifted. In fact, it was probably denser than the night before. She checked for a signal on her cell phone again, but she was in a dead zone and even the GPS wouldn't target a position. She would have to call Michael once back on Interstate 80. She smiled at the thought of Michael. After three years of mourning the death of her husband, Mark, she was finally dating again. Michael had encouraged her to finish her doctorate in anthropology. For over a month, Sheridan toured Nebraska, Kansas, Iowa, and Missouri promoting and doing book signings for her book based upon her doctoral thesis. Along the way, she stopped in small towns and found church groups and other small town meetings. She set a goal of writing a book about the local communities, from the history of their founders, to the present day remnants of those roots. The people were hospitable and their community strength often centered on church and family. The differences that seeped into their present day lives were their unique ancestral histories. With more research, most of which she could do from home, another book would soon be off to the publisher. Sheridan loved her position with the university, and probably published enough to keep her on faculty. The idea of giving up the writing and particularly the research sickened her. Field research was the most fun. The glaze of fixed concentration cleared from her mind and she could see the fog lifted. A few feet in front of her, an old, painted, wooden sign read Hidden 1/2 mile. The sign made her laugh, "Oh why not" she said aloud. It would probably take about a day to research one more town and it might put a nice ending to the new book. First, Sheridan attempted a three-point turn on the narrow road to point her car back toward Interstate 80. The fog bank became denser as she made the turn and felt her tires start to slide over the edge of a ditch. She managed to pull forward, safely back onto the road. Shaking uncontrollably, Sheridan left the car to walk the half mile to Hidden. Looking back toward the signpost, the fog had completely cleared. She looked behind her into an opaque white curtain. A shiver ran down her back as she walked the half mile into town. Looking back a few times the strange thick fog seemed to follow her. All landmarks disappeared one by one. She felt as if some sinister force was following her, pushing her toward Hidden. A huge Victorian mansion greeted her immediately when stepping into the town. The huge double doors were wide enough for three or four men side by side to walk through. A sign at the corner read simply 'Street’. She stood back and looked at it again trying to find the outline of faded letters or numbers in front of the word. There weren't any. There really wasn't room for anything but the word Street. Stepping onto the wooden sidewalk in front of the building, she turned to look across to the other side of Street. Oh, ho ho, this town is going to be very interesting. She took a slow three-hundred-sixty-degree turn and saw it was the only visible street. She didn’t see any alleys. However, footpaths broke up what she considered city blocks. She looked down and noticed she stood in the middle of the street. I must have twirled or something. Everything around her started spinning. There was a bench in front of the Victorian and she tottered toward it. As soon as she took her first step back toward the Inn, the dizziness was gone. Okay, this is getting super weird. She threw the thought away deciding the dizziness was due to lack of decent sleep. Sheridan turned her attention back toward the Inn. From her vantage point in the middle of Street, she could see the long wings spreading from each side of the central section. The well-maintained, ancient building loomed imposing over the street. Standing in front of the great walnut doors again, she noticed the left door had a large bronze knocker shaped like a flower that was obviously out of some artist's abstract mind. The other door boasted a matching bronze plaque, "Hide Inn: Come on In." She ran her finger over the bronze flower and was shocked that it seemed softer than most bronzes. It was like bronzed baby shoes. She could feel the feathery shape of the petals and even striations of a feather. The grouping of petals was not unlike a lily. The abstract rendition reminded her of a painting she had in her living room of a rose bud in a vase that upon second look was a woman's hand. The stem of the bronze flower made up the knocker and clanged like a heavy weight against its back-plate. Sheridan jumped in shock as she heard the noise reverberate through the interior of the great building. As she waited, Sheridan looked across and down the street. All the buildings were limestone. Limestone quarries dotted the plains so it wasn't surprising. What did puzzle her was the buildings were all the same square design, except one. The limestone across the street looked like a church of some kind. It had a sign standing in the yard with the words Angel Choir Chapel. The Chapel boasted a bell tower, but no visible doors Why would anybody build a church with no front door? The curiosity of the researcher determined to discover the essence of the tiny town. She suddenly realized there wasn't another soul visible. So sad, another small Nebraska ghost town. She sniffed the air. It was clean, like after a rain. No, it was cleaner. There were no farm smells, no alfalfa, animal feces, or fuel odors. She slapped the back of her hand when she felt a sting and thought comically that they must have forgotten to take the insects. A feeling of deep calm washed over her. She didn't know why, but she didn't want to question it. She almost felt drugged, like after taking a pain pill. I really need some sleep before I fall over. She rubbed her arms and patted her cheeks. “Oh My.” The words spread into a wide yawn. She stretched her arms out and took a deep breath of the fresh air. The feeling of relaxation continued down her entire body as she inhaled the crispness deep into her lungs. She began to feel hazy and a little wobbly. Then something else filled the air. Sheridan felt goose bumps rise on her arms as she noticed a faint, melody. It had been there unnoticed since her arrival. It was like having the radio in her car on very low and suddenly noticing the music. The sounds were the most beautiful harmony of voices she'd ever heard. It came from inside the chapel across the street. They sounded like a combination of halleluiahs, with an undertone of humming. Her heart lifted and warmth washed through her body. She wanted to go find the singer's but turned when she heard a movement behind her. Methuselah opened the door of the Inn. The short, odd, little man looked like he bore the wisdom of the nearly 1000-year-old man from the Biblical comparison. Each crater-like wrinkle seemed to disappear when he smiled. "Good morning young lady. Me thinks you have a problem with reading." His gravely voice belied the youthful agility he displayed with a funny little jump and kick that reminded her of a leprechaun. He pointed to the sign on the door. "I'm sorry sir, I couldn't resist the knocker. I've never seen anything like it." "He's a curious flower, he is for sure." The old man’s phrasing was so quaint she would have to make note of it to use in her book. He would make an interesting figure. His face furrowed with deep wrinkles. His thick, wavy, gray hair nicely trimmed with a full, well-groomed beard. The man was somewhat stooped, but she noticed he stood erect very easily. She enjoyed his theatrics, but wondered just how much she could trust the old guy. She tried to gauge his height compared by her own. She guessed him to be a few inches taller. The odd, little innkeeper didn't fit the majestic feel of the Inn. "Well I can see you are going to be an interesting guest." "Excuse me?" As he motioned her through the door, he enlightened her. "I've learned two things about you already. You don't follow instructions and you can't fight temptation." His smile grew from ear to ear with what she assumed was some sense of self-satisfaction As he lifted his left hand to welcome her inside, she noticed it was a child-sized hand. It looked smooth and soft. His right hand was a man's hand, rough and calloused from hard work. "I see you've discovered my gifted hands." He held them both up. "You sir, are a wonder." Sheridan laughed the words more than stated them, which seemed to encourage him. He led Sheridan to a large bureau made of cherry wood in a lobby at the end of a long, wide corridor. She noticed doors to rooms off both sides of the passageway. One door was open revealing an office. She imagined the other doors were equally utilitarian, except one labeled in great polished brass letters: SHEPHERD'S CLOSET. Once they entered the lobby, their voices echoed and Sheridan looked up to see all the way to the top of the three-story building with grand staircases curving up to each wing from the base. She felt that she must try to sketch it, however rough her talent. She stood at the bureau and pulled out her credit card. The old man slapped a ledger on its top. “I just need a room for one day. I only plan to stay for a good nap and let the fog lift. That is the weirdest fog down the road.” “What fog? It looks clear enough to me.” “That’s what makes it so odd. It’s clear as a bell in this direction, but every time I’d try to turn back toward the highway, I was in the deep fog again.” “Not to worry young lady.” He doesn’t believe me. He turned the book in her direction and glanced at the card. "Take things for granted too I see. You don't pay until you leave. The cost of your stay depends on what you do with your time here.” Before she could grab it, he picked up her card, pulled out a large pair of scissors, and chopped it into four pieces. “WHAT THE HECK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING? YOU HAD NO RIGHT. I WANT A PHONE SO I CAN CALL MY FRIEND IN LINCOLN.” She took a deep breath. Was the man deaf? He continued what he was doing as if she’d said nothing. “HEY” Sheridan grabbed his arm. “Phone” “Heard ya, don’t have one” "So, if you don’t want money, how do I get you to find me a phone and get me the heck out of here? Do I have to clean the Inn or help paint the church?" The sarcasm seemed lost on the host. This cat and mouse game is over. “If I have to take a chance walking back to the interstate, I will.” "Nope, Sheridan Easterly," was all he said. His eyes twinkled like a child playing gotcha. She could see the game was still on. “Oh, by the way, trying to walk back out of here would be a big risk. You’ll just get turned around again and again and end up back here anyway.” “What is this place?” “It’s Hidden. Didn’t you read the sign?” Sheridan looked down at the ledger. It lay open to a clean page. It looked brand new, as did the pen that lay on top of it. The pen was a quill and the bottle of ink sat on the desktop next to the ledger along with a clean cloth for letting the excess ink drip before signing. "It fits, it looks perfect for the Inn. I’ll sign so I can get a nap, but I will be leaving as soon as that fog lifts.” She signed her name in a Romanesque calligraphy, which was odd because she never studied the art. He grabbed her large tote bag and waved his arm like a scoop signaling her to a grand staircase. "Practical woman, you travel light." "Nothing much escapes you does it?" Who is this idiot? "That's why they call me Catch." Sheridan sighed. "I've traveled a lot -- Catch" "That’s what everybody calls me. I like it. Keeps me mysterious ya know?" "Catch" She repeated. “And I suppose you think you’ve caught me in this tiny ghost town. I’ll take a nap, but then I will go back down that road.” There was more determination in her voice than in her mind. "Did you know that your name, Sheridan, means to search? Are you a searcher, Sheridan?" The old man had a bad habit of ignoring her no matter how angry she spat words at him. He carried her tote up an ornate staircase. "Yes, I do know what my name means. How did you know my name? You called me by my name before I even signed your ledger." “Tsk, tsk, little lady, You’ll raise your blood pressure." He pointed to an identity tag on her tote. "Oh, that works too." A deep yawn escaped her as he opened the door to her room. "I guess I'm more tired than I thought. It’s ridiculous to think you are keeping me prisoner. I will have to report that card stolen you know. You are in big trouble. That’s frowned upon in Nebraska, you know.” “Okay.” He said nothing else about it, just the one word, okay. Does this man think he’s untouchable? Sheridan noticed symbols on a wall plaque beside the door. "What is this all about?" Sheridan pointed to the plaque. "It looks like some kind of ancient, symbolic script." She traced the symbols lightly with her fingers. The contrast of stiff, dry balsa wood against the smooth, polished wood of the door jam oddly seemed to fit. The symbols seemed familiar. "Hmm," She became the scientist again. "These symbols look like an ancient lost language. I've seen something like them somewhere." "Well, it probably is authentic then." Catch opened the door. Sheridan peered into the room and gasped. The contrast overwhelmed her. The new Early American style furnishings of the suite took her by surprise. The bathroom door stood open revealing all the gadgets of the most elegant hotels. She made her way to the bathroom door and saw a walk-in, tiled shower, a large vanity complete with ornate mirror, built in hair dryer and plush rug. The bathtub was large enough for two with body massaging jets. "Wow, this is something that I plan to take advantage of right away." She turned and smiled back at Catch. There were even bottles of her favorite brands of shampoo, lavender soaps, and candles setting on top of the marble counter. Sheridan suddenly remembered the violation Catch perpetrated on her property. The old man smiled, "Ye didn't think we were all backward did ye?" Catch seemed to have an endless repertoire of wisecracks to suit his chosen persona. He even added a hitch in his git-a-long to go with the old hillbilly. Catch deposited the tote on a bench in a spacious closet. “This doesn’t make up for the card you destroyed.” “Expired” “Expired? I have until the end of the month before it expires.” “Close enough.” “You’re not talking so cocky now. Are you a little scared?” “Ha, hardly” Sheridan’s energy drained so she had none left for arguing. Looking around the room, Sheridan noticed a large portrait of the same odd flower as on the doorknocker. The room was like a dream from her youth. The color scheme and design of the room were in her favorite colors and styles. Thinking of finally getting a chance to call Michael, she noticed there was no phone, television, or even a radio. "Mr. Catch, I’d hoped for a telephone to call my friend in Lincoln. I don't see any in the room." "No need to be so formal, just call me Catch." He drew in a breath. "We live simple here. We don't use phones, cars, or any of the things that make the world move so fast out there in the world." "Don't you have a telephone downstairs for emergencies?" "I'm afraid it isn't working, and I don't know when it'll be fixed. We have an old two-way radio. I'll see if we can get that to work." Catch replied. "You should get some rest and something to eat. You aren't expected today are you?" "No, not particularly, my friend is used to me not checking in for a day or two. This isn't the first spot I've been in where I couldn't get a signal." Why did I tell him that? Its not exactly information you give to someone you don’t trust. Catch started to leave the room then looked back. "You are here because you are supposed to be here." He said almost in a whisper as he started out the door. "What does that mean?" He kept walking down the hall. “WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?” "Enjoy your room, you will find everything you need." "Wait, don't I get a key?" "No need for them around here." The old man turned his back to her and continued on his way. Sheridan was alone in a lavish room, done up as if they decorated it exclusively for her. "How odd" She made a deep sigh and looked around the room. A chair at the little table fit perfectly under the doorknob. “There” A bath sent warm relaxation through her body. The water gently rolled over each part as she twisted and nearly swam in luxury. Stepping out on the rug her feet sank so deep her it tickled the top of her feet. In the closet, a robe of pink silk slid over her body like a caress. Sheridan forgot her fears, her anger, her frustration and fell into that welcome calm she'd felt when she first arrived. The flower portrait on the wall detailed more of the subject. The leaves were heart shaped with red veins. The petals were feathery and white. The artist had painted a yellow-gold stamen as if it shown like burnished gold. She was curious about the designer who could have dreamed up such a beautiful theme for the Hide Inn. Without thinking, Sheridan found herself sniffing at the painting as if she'd inhale the fragrance of the flower. Oddly enough, she found it smelled like a freshly cut lilac that the painter must have mixed into the paint. She pulled her laptop from it’s tote and filled two pages of her journal. Her report was a mess of the day’s events. She started doubting her own impressions of the innkeeper. Maybe the card had expired. She typed it all into her notes and set it aside for her return to Lincoln. She concluded with a note to Michael so she’d remember to tell him how she cared for him before hitting him with the craziness of that day. Sheridan loved Michael and she knew he loved her. Their love was companionable rather than electric but just as heart felt and deep. Her eyes drooped and soon she was nodding off in the desk chair. Her stomach groaned in protest, so she a banana from the immense fruit and cheese basket on the table by the sofa, then slid between the silk sheets of the huge soft bed. As she tried to think through the muddle of circumstances, she drifted in and out until the day gave way to slumber.

The Search is worth undertaking
Christian novels can be very hit-and-miss, even among Christian readers who want to avoid being stereotyped and do not want to read about stereotypes of Christian figures. When someone thinks of "Christian fiction," they think of the over-the-top, melodramatic, and too-clean-for-its-own-good Left Behind series where the books' whole message is "Be a Christian and you will be saved. Believe in anything else, and you are doomed."

Luckily, Glenda Fralin's The Search: Lunis Flower of Hidden never, ever hits that area. Although there are Christian themes in the novel, they are very subtle, at least towards the end. It features interesting characters and a mystery when a woman, Sheridan, loses her way and arrives at the town of Hidden, where nothing is as it seems and everyone is not who they appear to be.

First, the writing style is quite good and its third person style leads the reader smoothly. It's focused on Sheridan's thoughts and observations and the reader gets see the mystery unfold as opposed to having it revealed via exposition. The characters themselves, from Catch to Service are also intriguing, and the fact that you don't get to know them too in-depth makes them more intriguing. The overall nature of the story seems tame at first, but then cues show up that indicate to Sheridan-and the reader-on what might be going on. And that is the strength of the story, which is the beginning and the intriguing middle.

If the story does have flaws, one involves a character named Diggory who is introduced with his backstory, but his story barely has any presence in it because he just appears. His reason for appearing as a stranger in Hidden is not as significant as Sheridan's, and the romantic chemistry between him and Sheridan seems forced rather than being fully developed. He is underdeveloped, and not as interesting, as the rest of the cast. The second weakest part of the book is its climax and ending. It just seems very out of place when it is compared to the rest of the novel. By no means does it ruin the book but it ends up feeling odd after the rest of the read.

With all that said, The Seach: Lunis Flower of Hidden is a solid read. It does not insult Christian readers or Christian themes, but presents them in a way that it is not overly preachy. It is certainly worth a look.

A Picture of Comfort
I know Glenda through the Nebraska Writers Guild. She is a good person and has a lovely blog where she interviews authors. Now, I have also read her work, The Search. I found the book to paint a picture of comfort. As a Christian, I would recommend this book to anyone who is grieving, or dealing with death in any way. Fralin presented an innocent approach to a complex idea. Put your thinking cap on and take the ride. I honestly enjoyed this story.

Take the Time You Won't be Sorry
"I couldn't put it down." If I had to give a really short review of this book, that would be it. It's fascinating in the best sense of that word. You just get curiouser and curiouser. Maybe you'll figure it out before the end and maybe you won't. Either way, the journey is so intriguing that you will want to follow the path to the end.

I loved it. My only problem is where to put it in my library. It's not really a romance but it is romantic. It is not a mystery and yet it contains the answers you need, though not to all the questions you will ask yourself. It is not historical, yet the characters' histories were written long ago. It is not science fiction, yet it alludes to the future - one you can depend on to be there.

Just read it. It's good.