Sunpenny Blog Tour – Someday, Maybe by Jenny Piper – Excerpt & Giveaway

On Tour with Prism Book Tours.
Sunpenny Publishing ebook SALE

THE LONG WAY HOME and SOMEDAY, MAYBE are both on sale for 99¢ (US)!

WATERY WAYS is also on sale for 99¢ through February 13th and BRIDE BEYOND BETRAYAL is on sale for 99¢ from February 20th through March 5th.

Grab a copy of one or all while you can during the sale!


The Long Way Home

by Janet Purcell

Adult Fiction

Paperback & ebook, 237 pages

April 7th 2015 by Sunpenny Publishing

When Callie Vinerelli gives refuge in her Cape Cod home to a storm ravaged stranger, the hidden secres of her house on the dunes begin to emerge. She becomes enmeshed in the violence and tragedy of the past that left accomplished artist Christina Burroughs a paraplegic and stole her beloved daughter from her. Those still unresolved events invade Callie’s life, causing chaos and intrigue, life changing relationships, justice and peace to Christina’s descendants -and new love to herself.

Amazon – Amazon UK – Barnes & Noble

Someday, Maybe
by Jenny Piper
Adult Fiction
Paperback & ebook, 306 pages
November 6th 2013 by Sunpenny Limited
In a ramshackle old cottage with an outside lav, and a rickety ladder up to a draughty attic bedroom, Jim and Mary Norris slog in all weathers to make a living from their market garden, and to bring up their little girl, Patsy. But at times Jim’s guilt is overwhelming as he watches his beloved Mary working her frozen fingers to the bone, almost dropping with weariness – not exactly what she’s been used to in her genteel upbringing as the niece of well- off local gentry, who cut her off when she married “beneath her”. But she never complains; she loves Jim madly and they are blissfully happy together.
Until her accident – and the nightmare that follows them all through the next 30 years. Mary’s gradual descent into madness overshadows even Jim’s second marriage and children, but the shocking climax is something no-one could have foreseen.
Chapter 1


There were some things a man had to do, and this was one of them. Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth against the early morning cold, Jim plunged across the frozen yard.It was no warmer in the lav. The wooden seat was icy cold and he could hear his teeth chattering. By the cringe! His fingers were too numb to tear off the sheets of newspa- per cleanly, but at least the cistern wasn’t frozen up this time. The chain worked, even if reluctantly. Not waiting to button up his trousers, and fastening his braces as he went, he hurried blindly back to the kitchen.

Mary had filled up the kettle and set it on the stove before going down to the hens, but the fire that he had banked up in the small grate the night before seemed to have given up the ghost, or very nearly; only the smallest fragments here and there still glowing red. She must have forgotten to see to it before going out – his job at night, hers in the morning. Crouching and taking a sheet of newspaper from the basket, he unfolded it and pushed it up against the fireplace opening. Twice he released a corner briefly and peered behind it hopefully, but only smoke escaped. It made his eyes water.

At last, the relatively steady glow and flicker of flame behind the newsprint told him that the chimney was begin- ning to draw and he crumpled up the charred paper, though he stayed crouched for a moment, despite his hunger, willing the feeble warmth of the fire to thaw him out round the edges. Bloody hell! Roll on summer.

He had brewed up a pot, wolfed down a bowl of porridge, drained two cups of tea and hacked off and buttered two doorsteps of bread by the time Mary got back from the hens. A blast of wintry air entered with her small figure and a gust of smoke billowed from the fireplace as she slammed the door.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Fire’d nearly gone out.” She had her knitted hat on, pulled down over her ears.

He wanted to pull it off so he could touch her hair. “Eh?” She glanced guiltily at the hearth.

“Caught it in time. ’S all right now.” “I’m sorry. Too cold to think.”

Too cold and too bloody tired, poor kid. He watched, chewing, as she carried the clanking hen buckets over to the sink and rinsed them. Reaching for the small card- board tub of Wintergreen on the windowsill, she rubbed some into her hands, wincing. It worried him.

“You want to make sure you dry them properly, you know. That’s when they get chapped, when you don’t dry them properly.” He meant it kindly, but it made her cross.

“I know, I know!”

He took another slurp of tea. “Only saying …”

He continued to study her over the rim of his cup as she stowed away the buckets beneath the heavy, chipped sink and then unravelled her long woolly scarf and hung it on the peg. Not bloody right, poor kid. Still chewing, he pushed back his chair and crossed to help her as she began to tug ineffectually with numbed fi at the knotted bit of rope that held a man’s mac, old and dilapidated, about her slight body. “Here …”

She was shivering. “Did you drink all the tea, or did you manage to leave a drop for me?”

He grinned. “Needs a drop of hot.” As he hung the old mac on the peg she topped up the pot and then poured out a mug, cupping it between her cold hands and sipping it gratefully with her eyes closed. He frowned again. The familiar black cloud of depression drifted about his head, but he shrugged it away. Moving quickly behind her, he drew her tightly into the hard curve of his body. She felt fragile, like a little feather, though she acted as if she was tough as old boots, and she smelt of warm bran mash, cold air and Pears soap. Lord, he did love her!

“I missed you, again, last night,” he told her, trying not to sound resentful. “So what was it this time? Earache, or a bad dream?”

She sighed. “She can’t help it, you know, she’s only a baby.”

“She’s five years old!”

“She gets nightmares. She can’t help it if she gets night- mares.” He could sense her getting prickly and his frustra- tion was getting through, too. “Can’t you get her a night- light or something?”

She was bridling now. “I don’t like to leave her with a light, she’s too young, she might knock it over. Besides, she gets earache. Sometimes it’s earache. I can’t leave her with earache, can I? It’d be too cruel.”

He squeezed her waist, put a tease in his voice. “I reckon it’s just an excuse. Likes to have you at her beck and call.”

“And so do you!”

He was taken aback. “No, I don’t!”

“You do!” She turned in his arms, her grey eyes full with merriment. “Yes, you do. You’re a bigger baby than she is!”

Now that hurt. His grip loosened. “I miss you, that’s all,” he told her, sulkily. “You never seem to have time for me these days.”

“Ah, diddums!”

She giggled, and it made him smile. He could eat her up. Sweeping her into a big bear hug, he crushed her closely to him. “One of these days, I’d like to wake up and find you there,” he told her huskily. “In my bed. By my side. Like it was in the old days, remember?”

Her arms tightened about him reassuringly and she nestled her head affectionately into the crook of his shoul- der. “She’ll grow out of it.”

He cocked his head to listen for any sound from Patsy’s room. It was worth a try. “She’s still asleep. D’you want to come up to bed now?” he murmured hopefully.

“No!” She shook her head firmly and for a moment, he was hurt again, but she sounded rueful, which heartened him. “There isn’t time, love.”

He sighed resignedly, knowing that there wasn’t. “Give us another kiss, then,” he murmured grudgingly, pulling off her woolly hat. When he’d first seen her, a neat, spriggy little thing, she had worn her hair in tight, dark pigtails, and he’d liked that. When she had grown up and had it cut in a fashionable sort of style he’d been a bit disconcerted, but as time had gone on she had let it grow a bit and some- times put it up so that it sat on her head like a plump, soft, scented cloud, and he had loved it. Today, so early in the morning, it was tousled, unwashed and unbrushed and smelled of the cold morning and of chicken feed, but he didn’t care. He adored it. It was her hair. His hair. He could have stood there with the feel of her and the taste of her and the smell of her forever.

All too soon, though, she broke away, pushing at him

firmly. “That’s enough. Let go, you idiot! I want my tea!”

She took a moment to pull herself together, putting her hands to her cheeks as if to cool them, and then hurried to take her pinafore from the hook. “Right then – what’s today?” she asked, all businesslike.

Reluctantly he pulled himself together, reached for his ledger from the old wooden dresser and sat at the table with a sigh. “Got to get this into some kind of shape for a start.”

“Let me get the cloth off first.” Mary whisked away the crockery and the tablecloth. The tablecloth was precious and not for Patsy to play on; one of three, pure linen, though not new, smuggled out of her aunts’ house by Nancy, along with four sheets – only one of which had been sides-to- middled, three pairs of pillowcases and two tray cloths, both embroidered prettily. She liked this one for mornings. It was cheerful – white with a broad pale yellow band about the edge.

“Couldn’t you do that tonight?” she asked, filling up the kettle and a heavy pan with water, and setting them on the stove to boil. “I really need you to make a trip into town. I can’t get on with the Wooller funeral without more wreath wire and we need to order some paraffin.” A thought struck her. “Oh, and could you pop into the chemist and get me a bottle of glycerin and some Ipecac? Some nights Patsy can’t seem to stop barking and I’m sure it’s the catarrh that’s giving her the earache.”

He tapped his teeth with his pencil. “What time have the wreaths to be delivered?”

“Three at the latest. Funeral’s at four. One large yellow, one smaller mixed and a cross – all white, the cross.”

“Have we got enough chrysanths?”

“I think so, just about.”

Sighing heavily, he scraped his chair back from the table and crossed to take his jacket from the door. “Better get a move on, then, I suppose.” He opened the door, and then hesitated, frowning. “Glycerine and what?”

“Ipecacuana.” She hurried to him, reaching up to throw her arms about his neck and planting a big kiss on his lips. “He’ll know what it is. Thanks, lovey. You are a sweetie-pie, you know.”

He grasped her by the waist, his eyes narrowing. “I’ll expect some kind of return, you know, if I’m to get frozen half to death.”

She was puzzled. “Like what?”

He growled, furrowing his brow meaningfully. “Like no more midnight treks tonight.”

She grinned. “We’ll see.”

“Give her some bloody knock-out drops or something.”

She laughed, knowing he didn’t mean it. “Don’t be so rotten!”

“Cheerio!” As he hurried off, grinning, icy raindrops hit the back of his head.

Elsie Glassbrook opened her back door a crack, letting out a gleam of light and a gust of warm steam, just as he was stacking the last of her logs in her woodshed. Her broad face was red and shiny; must be washing day. He couldn’t help noticing, in the unforgiving light of morning, that she was going grey already. How old is Elsie, then? he wondered. Thirty-seven? Thirty-eight? Same class as me in school. Same age as me. Must be. He felt a pang. Don’t let me do that to Mary. In ten years’ time, don’t let her look so old.

“Cup of tea, Jim?”

He rubbed his cold hands together appreciatively. “Aye, that’d be grand, Elsie!”

“Bitter out there today.” “Not half!”

She pulled the door to. “I’ll keep this door closed till you’re ready, Jim. There’s measles about and a couple of the little ones with runny noses. I don’t want to let the cold air in.”

It was warm and humid – almost too hot – in Elsie’s kitchen, which would have seemed crowded even without the clotheshorse standing draped in front of the small range and other drying washing strung above it and across the room. It wasn’t a bad sized room for a cottage, quite a bit bigger than theirs, but Elsie had seven children, and a table big enough for all and all the chairs took up a great deal of the room, even when the children weren’t there. A faded armchair and a sideboard as well as a dresser took up more space, and today, with the big wooden washing tub stuck in front of the sink, the table laden and several of the children squashed in round about with their bits and bobs, it could only be described as cosy. The paraffin lamp on the table was lit and a storm lantern hung from a hook above, together making the kitchen bright and welcoming after the gloominess of the lowering sky.

Elsie, up to her elbows at the sink, glanced over her shoulder as he stamped his boots and ducked inside, closing the door again quickly. He slipped off his jacket, shivering. “By the cringe, it’s miserable out there today, Elsie.”

She nodded approvingly. “That’s it, take off your coat. You’ll need to feel the benefit when you get back out.” She glanced at her eldest daughter. “Cath, a cup of tea for Mr Norris and take that wet coat from him,” she ordered briskly. “Sit down, Jim.”

Cathy, fair haired, round-faced and blue-eyed like her mother, jumped up from the table where she had been sticking pictures into a scrapbook with the little ones, and hurried to the teapot. “I expect you’d like a piece of cake, too, Mr Norris?” she offered hopefully.

“I would!” Mary hadn’t the time to be making cakes that often, and he couldn’t blame her for that, so he always looked forward to Elsie’s, where there was always cake and where they never failed to offer him a slice.

“There’s parkin or caraway seed, Mr Norris.” Cathy hovered with the tin. “Which one would you fancy?”

He was about to plump for the parkin, when she told him, reddening a little with pride, “I made the caraway seed. It’s very nice.”

He grinned, ducking beneath the washing to lever himself into the easy chair wedged in between the clothes- horse and the range. “Oh, well, I’d better have a bit of that then, Cath!”

Elsie dropped a wrung-out shirt into a basket. “There you are, Cath – another lot ready for the mangle. Get that cake for Mr Norris, though, first. Sorry about the washing, Jim – no point putting it on the line just yet.”

He held his hands to the fire. “You’ve got your hands

full, Elsie, with all this lot to wash for.”

“You won’t mind if I get on, then, will you? Don’t think I’m rude – you have yourself a rest.”

He was glad to do it. The bottoms of his trousers were steaming dry already. He sipped with relish the hot, sweet tea that Cathy gave him and balanced the plate of cake that followed on his knee. “That looks grand!”

She hovered, clearly waiting for him to try it, so he took a large bite and chewed reflectively, pretending to consider, then took a second bite appreciatively. “You know what, Cath? I think caraway seed’s my favourite and I believe this is your best one yet!”

She was pleased as punch. He could see that as she blushed even more deeply. “Just say, Mr Norris, if you want another slice.”

“Mr Norris, here, look at my plane!” Tommy, Elsie’s seven year old, dark haired and sturdy, held up a wonky creation of cardboard and rubber bands. “It flies really well, see? Do you want to see it?” Taking aim, he launched it into the air, where it held up long enough to travel right over the table, narrowly missing Jim’s head before fluttering down dangerously close to the fire. Jim rescued it just in time.

“That’s grand, Tommy!” Putting down his plate, he fumbled in his pocket. “That reminds me … Where’s Chris- sie?”

“I’m here!” Sniffing, the little girl looked up from her scrapbook. She did look a bit peaky. Jim hoped she wasn’t going down with measles; he didn’t want to take it home to Patsy.

“And Pauline?” Chrissie’s twin emerged enquiringly from beneath the tablecloth. He grinned.

“Ah, yes – there you are!” He held out a small brown paper bag. “Here, Mrs Norris sent these for you, girls. Pictures, see,” he added, shaking out a few colourful frag- ments of shiny paper. “For your scrapbook – that’s a kitten, see, there’s a pansy, and an elephant … and there’s a forget-me-not. All sorts of things, I don’t know what else. I think she found them in her old schoolbook.”

“Let me see … let me see!” The children scrambled for them gleefully. Pauline, whose pink nose was running badly, threw her arms about his neck and planted a damp kiss on his cheek. “Ooh, thank you, Mr Norris!”

They were nice kids, he thought, pulling back just a little and hoping that she wouldn’t notice. Elsie had brought them up well.

“They’re a bit crumpled, I’m afraid,” he added guiltily. “Been in my pocket a week. I forgot to leave them last time.” He took the last mouthful of cake as the children hurried back to the table with their treasures. “Really good, Cath!” he repeated, rescuing the last crumb from his chin and

popping it into his mouth.

Elsie nodded proudly. “Oh, yes, she makes a good cake!” He winked at her broadly. “How’re you going to manage,

Elsie, when she’s wed?”

Cathy, pleased but clearly embarrassed, busied herself with the scrapbook. “Oh, I’ve no plans for that,  yet, Mr Norris!”

“I should think not!” Elsie dried her hands on a tea towel. “Not for a long time, I should hope! I need Cathy here with all this brood.”

He stood up regretfully, disentangling himself from a pair of clinging long johns that were dangling over his head. “Better go, Elsie. I’ve to get some wires for Mary – she’s a lot of wreaths to make this afternoon.”

“Let me get my purse …” Elsie paid him for the logs, then held the door open just enough for him to pass through as he buttoned up his jacket. “Shall you be delivering to the house?” she asked. “’Cos if you are, Nancy said to be sure to call in because the frock is ready for you.”

“Good grief!” He was startled. “She’s finished it already? She must have been working her socks off. She needn’t have, you know – it’s not our anniversary for another three weeks, not till the seventeenth of December. I didn’t mean her to do it in such a hurry. I hope she hasn’t worn herself out.”

“Well, she did say she had been burning the midnight oil doing it, but she didn’t want them to see it, naturally. I think she was just pleased to be doing something for Mary.” “Eau-de-nil, it is, Mr Norris, with a pattern all of tiny daisies,” Cathy joined in eagerly, forgetting her embar- rassment. “Rayon crepe, with a gored skirt and little ruffle sleeves … isn’t that right, Mum?”

Elsie nodded. “That’s right, that’s what our Nancy said. She got the material in the market, quite a bargain, only had a tiny hole near the selvedge, and the buttons –”

“Mum gave her the buttons, Mr Norris.” Cath looked down at her hands.

Elsie nodded. “Like little tortoises they are, Jim. Whale- bone, I think. I’m sure she’ll like them – Patsy will too. I had them in my button-box, always meant to put them on a blouse for Cath.”

He smiled his gratitude. “Ah … that’s very good of you, Elsie.” He felt a little awkward. He could see that Cath had wanted them. He cleared his throat. “I am sorry you’ve been done out of them, though, Cath.”

She looked up with a shy smile. “Doesn’t matter. So long as you like them, Mr Norris.”

“Me? It’s not me that’s to be pleased, Cath, it’s Mary. She’ll be wearing them!” Cathy looked back down quickly at the scrapbook. He hoped he hadn’t hurt her feelings. “And I’m sure she will, Cath,” he added hastily. “Be pleased, that is.” He pulled on his damp jacket. “Mary will be really pleased.” Cathy nodded.

“You’re managing to keep it a secret?” Elsie asked, as he turned up his jacket collar ready to face the rain. “She really doesn’t know?”

He shook his head, excited. “Hasn’t got a clue.”

Elsie chortled conspiratorially. “Probably thinks that you’ve forgotten.” She patted his arm. “It’ll make a lovely surprise. She’s a grand needlewoman, is Nancy. Used to make all us kids’ clothes for our Mum once she’d got good at it. Takes a real pride in her skill with a needle, always has.”

Jim frowned, musing. “If it’s ready, I’ve got to think where to hide it.”

“Well, don’t go putting it in the potting shed or anywhere like that where it might get damp.”

“Somewhere Mary wouldn’t look …”

Elsie, holding the door ajar, was growing impatient. “Come on, Jim, you’re letting all the warm air out!”

He hurriedly stepped out through the gap. “Sorry.” Once outside, though, he hesitated again, frowning. “You’re sure it’ll be all clear?”

Elsie clicked her tongue. “Just stick your head in at the back door, she won’t keep you a minute. You won’t see them, especially if you can get round there about eleven o’clock. Nancy says they’ve got the vicar calling.”

Janet Purcell is a professional artist and writes a weekly fine arts column and feature articles for The Times of Trenton (NJ). Her interior design features appear regularly in DesignNJ magazine. Her articles have appeared in Woman’s Day Special Interest Publications, Bridal Guide, American Spa, and many other magazines and travel guides. Her travel stories have frequently been published in the New York Post, Country Discoveries, and in Princeton, New Jersey’s Packet Publications’ community newspapers. Her previous novel, Singer Lane, was published in 2008 and her third novel, Rooster Street, is awaiting publication. Though not a trilogy, many of the same characters are found continuing their lives in each of the three books. Her paintings can be seen at

Deeply thought-provoking, Jenny Piper is a wonderful author who makes no bones about her handling of delicate subjects . Her skill as a story-teller is a delight to the heart and soul, and is right up there with the best of them. She lives with her husband in rural Hampshire, and has been variously an actress, an artist, a teacher and a psycholo- gist, but has had a lifelong love of books and nowadays spends much of her time writing.


Tour Schedule
February 7th: Launch
February 9th: Beck Valley Books
February 10th: Bookworm Lisa 
February 11th: I Am A Reader
February 12th: Grand Finale

Tour Giveaway$10 Amazon eGift Card (open internationally)

Ends February 18th

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  1. vmorgan456 says:

    I love the descriptions so far in this book…so detailed I felt like I was there

  2. Very intriguing exposition, thanks!

  3. I like the books cover, very rustic and nice.

  4. I love the cover, it is beautiful! 😉

  5. The synopsis of Some Day Maybe sounds like a great mix of happy and sad but the last couple of sentences says, “Read to find out what happens.”!

  6. Some of the links on the rafflecoptter are wonky.

  7. The book covers are nice , and the books sound interesting.

  8. Both these books sound really powerful. I like the covers and I’m particularly intrigued by the second of these books, Someday, Maybe. Curious to see what happens. thanks for sharing!

  9. These books both sound great. I haven’t read books by these authors. Sure would love to, though!!

  10. Roselle Torres says:

    Interesting! 🙂

  11. Really enjoyed reading the entire post, thank you!

  12. “… shocking climax is something no-one could have foreseen” — great way to hold on to a reader! You are definitely left wanting to know the meaning of that last line. Great post!

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