Tuesday, February 14, 2017

Although St. Valentine is most closely associated with Valentine’s Day, St. Dwynwen is the patron saint of lovers, at least in Wales. Several stories are told about this 5th century saint. Sam tells it best to Penelope. . .

      “You didn’t have to get me anything.”
       “You knew I would.”
       “I guess I did.”
       “Close your eyes, and hold out both hands.”
       Penelope did both, then closed her fingers around a small box. A jeweler’s box. A ring? Surely not. He’s never even said he loves me.
       “You can open your eyes now.”
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       She looked at the small box, wrapped in some of the red paper she’d used for Bradley’s and Rosabel’s gifts. “Sam, I…”
       “Just open it.”
       Her hands shook as she untied the ribbon and peeled away the paper, revealing not a ring case but a box bearing the name of a jewelry store in Little Rock. When she fumbled with the lid, Sam lifted it off, pushed aside the layer of cotton, and took out a flat silver heart etched with something she couldn’t read.
       “It’s beautiful, Sam,” she murmured.
       He picked it up. “Mae hyn yn fy annwyl.” He showed her the inscription. “It’s Welsh.”
       “What does it mean?”
            He took her hand and led her to the sofa. “First let me tell you a story. Do you know who St. Dwynwen is?”
       “I’ve never heard of him.”
       “Her. She lived in Wales in the 5th century. According to some sources, she was the daughter of a king who forbade her to marry the man she loved. Other sources say the man betrayed her. Whichever happened, she never married and became a nun, but because she prayed for God to give happiness to all lovers, she—not St. Valentine—is the patron saint of lovers.”
       Penelope’s eyes blurred with tears. She wondered if Sam could see her heart beating beneath her red sweater. “That’s a beautiful story, but I still don’t know what the inscription says.”
       Sam fastened the thin chain around her neck. “The inscription is Welsh, and it’s from the Song of Solomon. Mae hyn yn fy annwyl means ‘This is my beloved.’”
       Her tears spilled over. “Oh, Sam.”
       He tipped her chin and extracted a handkerchief to blot her cheeks. “It’s a promise, Nell, the only one I can make right now.”
       She laid her forehead against his chest and felt him rest his chin on her hair. “It’s enough. It really is.”

. . .from book 4 of the Penelope Pembroke Cozy Mystery Series: The Possum Hollow Hullabaloo

Book 1:  TheBogus Biker

Book 6:  Sam’s Last Stand

What’s a toe-the-line type like Penelope Pembroke doing with a mystery man who comes and goes from Amaryllis, Arkansas, usually leaving murder and mayhem in his wake? You’ll never believe how it all started in The Bogus Biker.

Penelope's cat Abijah says, "Keep me in cat treats! Get Book 1 for only 99 cents every day!"

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