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When Will Ruth Return?
Authors spend so much time with the characters they create, the end of a book truly can feel like saying goodbye to a companion. It is such an exciting reunion having the opportunity to dive into Ruth’s next adventure. I love getting to share another Sneak Peek of the third Ruth book with you! And in case you missed the first THREE Sneak Peeks, you can find them linked below.
The Girl in the Newsroom
“You ok, Ruth?”
Ruth jumped at David’s voice. She’d been staring at her desk, letting her mind escape reality. The concern in his voice jolted her back and brought tears to her eyes. She must look a fright.
He placed a glass of water in front of her and she finally looked up.
“Were you caught in the madness outside?”
She nodded.
He lit a cigarette and spoke quietly. “I suppose that might have been triggering.”
She looked away and avoided his gaze. Her hand shook as she took a careful sip of water. She’d spoken with David once about their shared pasts. He was also a refugee from Russia. Although he’d lived in Moscow and been forced to escape as a young boy with his family during the Imperial Decree of 1891 which had ordered the expulsion of all Jews from Moscow. To avoid the Pale of Settlement, they’d been part of a group who hired a smuggler to get them to America.
He waved another lit cigarette in front of her face. She took it and finally looked up to him. She saw the shadows beneath his own eyes. His clothes were rumpled as if he’d slept in them.
“Looks like we’ve both had a time of it. Were you here all night?”
He nodded and took another drag from his cigarette. “It was a quick turnaround to get the front page ready. The telegram only came in from D.C. at 6pm.”
Ruth shook her head and took a drag of her own cigarette. “I really thought they’d change their minds and do the right thing.”
David pulled over a chair and sat down next to her. “What are you feeling right now?”
“Hurt, angry, betrayed. What do you think I’m feeling? Aren’t you feeling the same?” Ruth’s voice rose and cracked.
He nodded. “Yes, I am feeling the same. As are many other people right now. Which is why I think you need to write about it to soothe them.”
Ruth reeled back. “Me? I don’t write features.”
He took another drag. “Did I ever tell you about my first feature?” He snuffed out the cigarette in an ashtray. “The war had recently ended and I was rattling around Europe, trying to figure out how to move on with my life. I was in the countryside of France and came across two boys playing in a trench. At first, I assumed they were playing some awful game, glorifying the horrors that had occurred there. But as I went over to scold them, I saw they were riding down the sides on toboggans. And that’s when I realized, we’d be okay. Life would go on. Where I saw horror and death, these boys saw a chance to play. I channeled that feeling and wrote about it that night. On a lark, I sent it to the New York Herald. They published it and that was the beginning of my own fresh start. Writing a feature is just tapping into a fear many are feeling and finding a way to reassure people.”
Ruth’s head was whirling. Boys sledding in a trench. She couldn’t imagine. But, hadn’t she seen equally disturbing things back in Russia? Like kids using materials from torched houses to build forts?
She’d never thought of finding a way to inspire people with her writing before. She’d written to shine a light on hidden truths and report the facts. To expose Max Blanck for the evil murderer he was. To demonstrate how capable and worthy women were to vote. Those had been her top stories, the ones she’d been the proudest of and had made a small difference.
But could David be right? Could she find a way to do more with her writing? To go deeper and commiserate and bring hope through her writing?
David chuckled. “I can see your wheels turning. Good.” He stood and returned his borrowed chair. “I look forward to seeing your attempt. I have faith in you.”
He left her and she stared down at her desk. She had piles of random announcements and invitations to business openings and events. Things she’d normally sift through to find something worthy of a report. Instead, she pushed them all to the side and grabbed fresh paper and a pen.
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