#Review: The Bootlegger’s Wife by Terri Lee @terrileeauthor
This was a fun read. I loved the prohibition aspect in this book. I honestly do not believe it is something I read before. First I admit the book cover is perfect. Just looking a reader will be transported back to the 1920’s.
During a time when everything was changing the author captured this perfectly.
Frances grew up a socialite, someone that had everything but was not worthy in her parents eye. Someone that refused to follow rules laid down by others. When Frances does what she wants, follows her heart her parents act like she has committed a murderous sin.
Frankie was willing to do anything to show his love to Frances. Frankie ex-marine that just needs one big break to make his way in the world.
The author provides wonderful detail for this book. Readers are able to see the struggles people faced at the beginning of the great depression. People suffered from loss of everything from a market crash when the world was still struggling after a war.
The only problem I had with the book is the title. I admit I was looking for more bootlegging.
I recommend this book to any who enjoy vintage historical romance.
The bunnies and I give this book carrots.
I was given this book in exchange for an honest review. All views are my own and do not reflect those of the author, my clients or tour companies I work with. This is not a paid review. To form your own opinion please support the author and acquire your own legal copy of the book.
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THE BOOTLEGGER’S WIFE
by Terri Lee
In the summer of 1919 the country was ready to throw off the gray days of war and laugh again. The 1920s were about to come roaring onto the scene and change everything. It was a time when people believed anything was possible, even a love that was doomed from the start.
Nineteen-year-old Frances Durant was ready for excitement. What she wasn’t ready for was a tall, tanned Marine, fresh from the battlefield and ready to take New York City by storm. Frankie Lee was just the sort of guy to sweep a restless young heiress off her feet.
Their two worlds collide on the dance floor and set in motion a love story that careens through the twenties, when the world thought the parties would never end, to the crash of 1929 and the devastation that followed. A brush with the dark side of the bootleg world, and a tragedy that reaches out from the cold dark night will test young love over and over. Can two people from such very different worlds survive the ride?
“Hello Foster, did you miss me?”
“Of course, Miss Frances. This house is never the same when you’re not here.”
“I bet that’s right.”
Though she said the words he would expect from her, they were not accompanied by the usual tossing of the head or a glint in the eye. The words hung in the air without life.
“And how was your stay in the city?”
“Good, good. Glad to hear that you had a nice visit with your cousin.”
“Yes. My cousin.” Her voice trailed off as she made her way upstairs. “I’ll be in my room.”
Lena bustled in, giving orders to the driver laden with bags, and brushed past Foster with barely a nod. Frances was glad to be released from the tight confines of the car. It felt good to stretch her legs, it had been a long drive in more ways than one. Her mother’s few attempts at conversation had only fueled Frances’s anger. It took all her strength to stare out the window instead of scream, “What right have you to talk to me as if you haven’t stolen my chance at happiness? You with your snooty airs.”
Now, Frances stood at her door, gazing around the room. Everything was exactly as she had left it only a few short weeks ago, yet somehow everything looked different. She was different. She threw off her shoes and stretched out across her four poster bed, wrapping her arms around her pillow. Staring out the window, she lay lost in thought, completely unaware of the passage of time, until she was called down for dinner, which she promptly ignored.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Born and raised in northern California, that part of the country will always have a piece of my heart. My family moved to Missouri in my teenage years and when the love of my life walked through my door at my summer job, that is where my heart truly found its home. As with all good things, when I least expected it. Of course it didn’t hurt that the first thing he did was buy me a chocolate malt. Forty years later I am still married to my High School sweetheart, who has always been my biggest cheerleader in whatever scheme I dream up. And believe me, I’m capable of dreaming up almost anything. We have a golden/lab named (Elizabeth Bennett) Lizzie, who is my muse and my steadfast writing partner. She offers only the kindest critiques. Not to be outdone, our cat, Baby Kitty, is a card carrying terrorist, whose only mission in life is to thwart any goodness that comes my way. I make my home in a small rural town outside of Springfield, MO, the sort of place where the adventures reside only in the stories I spin, which is just the way I like it.
I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t scribbling away and playing with words. I wrote my first novel at the age of thirteen. I gladly exchanged the bulk of my sunny days that summer for afternoons spent on the back porch at a make shift table, surrounded by pens, pencils and paper. There, I marveled as I watched the little character that I had created take shape and come to life. That was my first foray into writing, certainly not to be my last. Through times of great joy and times of confusion writing has always been my solace. It is the one thing I return to over and over again. I only truly understand how I feel about something once the words have pushed themselves down through my fingertips and out onto the page.
How are my stories born? The words, colors, smells, family legends, people, places and things of my past provide the fertile soil for a small seed of an idea to take up root and blossom. They present themselves to me when they are ready, when they have lain in the soil and soaked up all that they need. Once they come to me and beg to be written, to be set free, it is only then that I recognize the work that’s been going on behind the scenes. Sometimes for many years.
The Bootlegger’s Wife is a story near and dear to my heart. It grew from the tales I heard as a small child., words that floated around the kitchen table. A phrase here, a snippet there…an unfinished sentence that piqued my curiosity. With the writing of this story, I am able to say to my grandparents. ” I heard the stories you told me. I took them to heart. I heard every word you said and even all the words you couldn’t bring yourself to sayAnd it is my hope, that you dear reader, will find some small piece of yourself in my stories. Something familiar, something that feels like home. May you find yourself nodding along and whispering. “Of course.”