The Artist

By Jeffery Martin Botzenhart

His drawings captured her heart and soul

Is it true love if one needs to find an escape? Helen’s forthcoming marriage to Howard has caused her to seek some time alone to reflect on her life. Traveling from her home in New York City to Hydeport, Long Island, this holiday destination of her youth is the perfect place to hide. The Great War is over. Adoring crowds have sought their return to the amusement park and boardwalk so cherished from her childhood. Yet solitude to sort through her troubled thoughts proves elusive.

Should she marry Howard despite not being in love with him? Are the wishes of her parents and demand of proper society too great to ignore?

Meeting Edward, a handsome young artist on the boardwalk, Helen is convinced his portraits of her have captured her true essence. His shy endearing presence stirs feelings of love inside her. In truth, what he also has captured . . . is her heart.

PUBLISHER NOTE: Historical Romance. 22,000 words.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Luminosity Publishing LLP
• Release date: Oct 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005888916

Jeffery Martin Botzenhart

I was born on November 9, 1967 in Warren, Ohio and grew up in a country trailer park in Southington Ohio with my two brothers and parents.I currently live in Girard, Ohio with my wife and sons. After graduating from Chalker High School in 1986, I went on to attend Kent State University.Originally, I sought to pursue a degree in education, but changed degrees after a few years in school. After working my way through college for eight years, I graduated in 1994 with a Bachelor’s degree in International Relations.Aside from writing, I also draw and paint. My other passion is soccer. I have proudly been a coach of a soccer team for autistic and special needs players.

Book preview

THE ARTIST

Another Time – Book One

JEFFERY MARTIN BOTZENHART

His drawings captured her heart and soul

Is it true love if one needs to find an escape? Helen’s forthcoming marriage to Howard has caused her to seek some time alone to reflect on her life. Traveling from her home in New York City to Hydeport, Long Island, this holiday destination of her youth is the perfect place to hide. The Great War is over. Adoring crowds have sought their return to the amusement park and boardwalk so cherished from her childhood. Yet solitude to sort through her troubled thoughts proves elusive.

Should she marry Howard despite not being in love with him? Are the wishes of her parents and demand of proper society too great to ignore?

Meeting Edward, a handsome young artist on the boardwalk, Helen is convinced his portraits of her have captured her true essence. His shy endearing presence stirs feelings of love inside her. In truth, what he also has captured . . . is her heart.

PUBLISHER NOTE: Historical Romance. 22,000 words.

THE ARTIST

Another Time – Book One

JEFFERY MARTIN BOTZENHART

WWW.LUMINOSITYPUBLISHING.COM

LUMINOSITY PUBLISHING LLP

THE ARTIST

Another Time – Book One

Copyright © OCTOBER 2020 JEFFERY MARTIN BOTZENHART

Cover Art by Poppy Designs

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No part of this literary work may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without the written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To my brother, John, and his wife, Brandi. The love you two share should inspire all.

CHAPTER ONE

I remember this place as if from a dream, Helen whispered. The euphoric sights and sounds of sun-drenched Atlantic Pier embraced her soul like an old friend revisited. Lacking the popularity and crowds of Coney Island, this place and the picturesque town of Hydeport had become a more affluent destination of escape on Long Island for New York’s elite who wished to travel less distance than to the Hamptons or sail to Martha’s Vineyard.

Glancing up, placid white clouds appeared suspended in the expansive blue sky as if frozen in time. Amidst this glorious view, a hot air balloon glided toward the ocean. Nine years had passed since the last time she visited here with her parents, yet from one direction to another, nothing had changed except her.

Why did I have to grow up? she thought. Why did the world have to change? Why do I feel so unprepared for all this?

The jubilant echoes of children and familiar aromas enticed more of her childhood memories to flood her mind. Such a sweet intoxication to behold once more. The innocence of those precious years lifted away the weighted burdens of her current daily life. Strolling ahead, she stopped a minute later to listen to the harmonic singing of a barbershop quartet. Their voices held the perfect tone for a rendition of Let Me Call You Sweetheart, a favorite song of hers long forgotten. Though varying in height, she admired the men’s mustached grins and matching red and white striped shirts, white trousers, and black hats.

Were these the same gentlemen who sang this song when I was last here? she wondered. No, I’m certain they aren’t. What a foolish notion.

Continuing past stands selling lemonade and ice cream, she yearned for both but hesitated, instead focusing ahead. Towering over the pier’s end, a massive Ferris wheel competed with the steep incline of a roller coaster for dominance of height. The music of the carousel drowned out the quartet’s singing as she pressed through the crowd toward it.

Which do I yearn to ride first?

Enchanted by a blue and white painted carousel horse, Helen sat astride it, waiting for the ride to begin. Near her, a father held tight to his young daughter, her sitting on a red horse. She recalled a memory of her father holding her in the same manner from a holiday long ago. Having forgotten this cherished moment with him until now, a tinge of sadness tarnished the growing serenity of her current mood, understanding the emotional distance she shared with her father of late. A young girl must grow up to be a proper woman, burying such fanciful whims to be replaced with etiquette deemed appropriate for her social standing.

He would be furious if he knew I was here, Mother as well.

Her spirits lifted with the rising of the carousel horse as the ride began. Laughter escaped her as all surrounding became a blur. Pipe organ music resounded; the melody cheerful. The expression of unabashed joy exuded from the young girl and her father near her again evoked past memories.

I hope they cherish every minute together. Time has a cruel way of being a thief for such wonderful moments.

When the ride ended, she wandered to the farthest end of the pier, staring out to the tranquil blue ocean. With no menace of German U-boats or warships threatening the southern Long Island coastline, Atlantic Pier and Hydeport had once more become a holiday destination for many New Yorkers. The Great War, like all others in the past, had corrupted the water with its violence. Though peace was at hand again, she knew the ocean would never be the same for some. Too many senseless deaths had stained the water red, yet all she saw was endless blue.

Maybe the sea has a means to forget the carnage the way some never will.

Turning around, the excitement of the amusements and those enjoying them ushered her free-spirited resilience back to her soul. Beaming smiles adorning children’s faces and the contentful glances of their parents suggested, at least for their time here, the tumultuous recent past would remain in the past. The warm summer days of July would see to this.

Glancing to her left, Helen watched kites and sea birds competing for dominion of the sky from the beach below. Some braved the robust rolling surf while others enjoyed resting under the shade of umbrellas or basking in the splendor of direct sunlight. More than one sandcastle had been built, dividing the shore into rival kingdoms. Yet even amidst such a glorious sight, watching boys playing wargames unnerved her.

I don’t remember such games from when I was here before with my parents. Is all innocence gone, even in a place such as this?

Fanning