One Fine Voice blog tour is through The Coffee Pot Book Club with an exclusive excerpt.
Book Title and Author Name:
One Fine Voice
by Rebecca Langston-George
Blurb:
All her life, Esther Hopkins has been told she has a mighty fine voice.
Still, she can’t believe her luck when just days after moving to town she’s invited to sing a solo at the 1923 Independence Day picnic.
But the group sponsoring the picnic is not the benevolent fraternal order they claim to be. Worse, they’ve recruited her father, the town’s freshly ordained Baptist minister, to become their chaplain.
When they target the immigrant family of her new best friend, Esther must risk her father’s anger, the KKK’s revenge, and her family’s safety to follow her conscience, salvage her friendship, and find the strength to speak truth to power even if it costs all she holds dear.
Buy Link:
Universal Buy Link: https://geni.us/BYaF8Z
Author Bio:
Rebecca Langston-George is the author of nineteen books for young readers including the globally popular For the Right to Learn: Malala Yousafzai’s Story. Though she’s long been known for nonfiction, One Fine Voice is her first middle grade historical fiction.
A retired teacher credentialed in both single subject language arts for upper grades and multiple subjects for younger grades, Rebecca is a popular school presenter for all ages, encouraging students to investigate and tap into their personal interests when writing.
She serves on the board of The California Reading Association and is the Co-Regional Advisor for SCBWI Central-Coastal California, helping other writers achieve their dreams.
She splits her time between California’s scenic coast and its agricultural heartland, writing (and mostly rewriting) at one mile per hour on a treadmill desk. Read more at Rebecca Langston-George | Children’s Book Author.
Author Links:
Website: www.rebeccalangston-george.com
Author page at Historium Press: https://www.historiumpress.com/rebecca-langston-george
Twitter / X: https://x.com/RebeGeorge
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/rebecca.langstongeorge
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/rebeccalangstongeorge/
Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/rebegeorge.bsky.social
Book Bub: www.bookbub.com/authors/rebecca-langston-george
Amazon Author Page: https://amazon.com/author/rebeccalangston-george Goodreads:https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7216664.Rebecca_Langston_George
Excerpt 3:
Chapter 11
I marched with such purpose toward the feed store that even when the sweet scent of pink blossoms beckoned from the park, I did not stop to dawdle and daydream. Let some other girl stand on that stage and sing.
If I hadn’t been so focused on what I was going to say to Anne-Marie, I’d have noticed it a block away. Big sloppy red words had been inserted in Lombardi’s window sign. Lombardi’s Foreign Feed. Buy American! Dribbles of dried red paint dripped down the letters like a bloody nose.
How could someone do such a thing! I ran to the door. A cross had been scratched deeply in its wood. The knob wouldn’t turn. Lombardi’s Feed was locked. I knocked and knocked but no one answered. “Anne-Marie!” I shouted toward the upper story window “Are you in there?”
No one responded, but I could see a shadow stir near the upstairs curtain. I pounded on the door. “Mr. Lombardi! Anne-Marie! I need to talk to you.” I ran back to the front window, pressing my face against the glass beside the hateful scrawling. Inside Mr. Lombardi pushed aside the maroon curtains. When he peeked around the door he held his hand out, barring me from entering.
“What happened? Are you okay?” I demanded.
“A prank,” he said. “A foolish prank. No one is harmed.” But his eyes, wary and tense, scanned the town square behind me as he spoke.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Lombardi. I’ll help you clean it,” I offered.
He waved his hand. “No, child. Thank you, but no.”
“Can I see Anne-Marie, please? I need to tell her something.”
He shook his head. “That is unwise. I will tell her you asked for her.” He withdrew his head to close the door.
I wedged my hand into the door frame. “Wait! Please, who did this?”
The old man smiled forlornly and took my hand in his, pushing it gently back. “Go now. Be safe.”
I backed away as he closed the door. He hadn’t answered my question, but if I was honest with myself, I already knew the answer.
A strange feeling inched down my spine as I left. A prickle at the nape of my neck crawling down my shoulder blades. Eyes watching up and down the street. Eyes on me. The haberdasher next door arranging his hat sign watched as I walked by. The druggist a few doors down swept the street in front of his pharmacy, eyes tracking me. Mr. Holland, leaned against the Chief, nodding as I passed, but piercing me with his stare. I fought back the urge to run. Placed one foot in front of the other until I reached the safety of our porch.
