Sparrow’s Song

by Marilee Aufdenkamp

Universal Buy Link:  https://books2read.com/u/3GyLvO

Come with me, and step back into the world as it once was with an excerpt from Sparrow’s Song by Marilee Aufdenkamp. This is the story of a young woman who steps out of the noise and grime of factory life in 1917 and into a new world. She entered a fledgling nursing school, hoping only for a chance to breathe, yet soon found herself rising through its ranks.

With her new authority brings strain, and every lesson she teaches carried its own quiet weight. Her journey stretches from the first great war into the second, shaped by courage, longing, and the quiet battles fought behind hospital doors.

Blurb:

Shortly after Kathryn Scheibel leaves her cigar‑making job in 1917, she enters the Army School of Nursing, a pioneering WWI nurse‑training program that offers the education she’s longed for but couldn’t afford. More than two decades later, her career carries her, as an instructor, into the Cadet Nurse Corps, the federal WWII nursing‑education initiative created to support the war effort. There she sees the same pressures she once felt now directed at students with even fewer protections. When two Black students are treated unfairly, Kathryn must decide how to respond.

Sparrow’s Song is a sweeping, intimate novel about resilience and belonging, rooted in the real history of wartime federal nursing education and the evolving landscape of modern American nursing. At its heart is a young immigrant woman pushing herself toward the advantages she’s convinced education will unlock, even as that drive pulls her away from the people and heritage she loves.

An excerpt from Sparrow’s Song:

Getting ready for the yellow party was a source of anxiety and excitement. “A little shorter, please, Mutti. I don’t want Mrs. Abbott’s friends thinking I’m old-fashioned.” Kathryn stood in the living room on the wooden box that Mutter used to reach her sausage grinder and other seldom-used items stored on the highest shelf in the kitchen.

Kathryn’s mother lifted the hem, so it fell just at the point where Kathryn’s lower leg began its steepest taper toward her sturdy ankles. She worked quickly, circling Kathryn on her knees, straight pins held captive by her pursed lips. Großmutter, who scowled at length as the dress was being made, came over to inspect the sleeves and flatten the collar. Broad stripes in alternating shades of pale and bright white ran up and down the cotton voile overlay.

“Oh, Großmutter,” Kathryn said. “Your handiwork is the nicest there is. Some pale-yellow trimming, even the tiniest bit of tatting on the sleeves and collar, would make me feel like the grandest lady at Mrs. Abbott’s party.”

“Okay. I’ll do it,” Großmutter said, “but don’t get your head full of fancy ideas about being something other than what Gott intended. As much as you paid for this little bit of nothing, you could’ve had a nice swath of blue serge, enough to make three skirts and some left over. It’s pert near like you’ve lost your head since you got over there with that Abbott woman.”

While Kathryn’s mother finished pinning the hem, Großmutter brought out her tatting supplies. “No yellow,” she said, “but this should be nice against that sheer white.” She picked up a ball of ivory thread and began winding one of her wooden tatting shuttles.

Kathryn motioned for her mother to stop pinning. She jumped off the box and hurried to Großmutter. “That would be beautiful, Großmutter, but for this party the trim on my dress has to be yellow.”

“This Mrs. Abbott tells you what color you have to make your clothes to wear to a party?”

“It’s because it’s a yellow party. For suffrage.”

“What is this suffrage? I never heard of it.”

“It’s the right to vote. For women. Yellow represents the light. Mrs. Abbott says that when we wear yellow—only she says when we don yellow. The closest in our language, I think, means to put on. Mrs. Abbott says that when we don yellow for suffrage, we are like sunflowers turning our faces to the light. She said we’re going to decorate the whole house yellow for the party. She’s even going to pay Mutti to help with the decorating.”

Großmutter shook her head. “What kind of foolishness are you speaking about?  This is what happens when a woman has too much money so that she doesn’t have to spend any time taking care of her family. She starts talking nonsense.” Großmutter went back to her chair. She stared out the window and continued muttering under her breath. She spoke at length, shaking her head from time to time, but it was impossible to hear what she was saying. Kathryn’s jaw tightened. It seemed Großmutter liked nothing more than being in control and making people miserable. In Russia, she had been the head of the family. Here, Kathryn knew, she felt of little value. Her crossness was understandable, but lately it seemed she was more critical than usual, and at times Kathryn tried to avoid her.

Kathryn turned to her mother. “I brought the measurements for the porch. Mrs. Abbott said she called the dry goods store and told the proprietor you’d come by next week to get some fabric for the bunting and that he is to put it on her account. She’s leaving it to you to buy the pattern and choose the fabric. I told her you won’t need to buy a pattern at all. That you just have to look at the picture in the store and you’ll be able to come home and make your own pattern.”

“I guess you can buy me some yellow tatting thread while you’re at the dry goods,” Großmutter said. “Maybe that Mrs. Abbott should be buying the thread for the dress, too, if she’s taking it upon herself to decide what can be worn at one of her fancy doings.”

Trigger Warnings:

  • Two off‑page suicides
  • One short scene involving sexual harassment / coercion
  • One brief scene of non‑graphic violence
Marilee Aufdenkamp

Author Bio:

Marilee Aufdenkamp is a retired nurse educator who taught undergraduate nursing for twenty‑six years before turning her full‑time focus to historical fiction. She writes early to mid‑twentieth‑century stories grounded in immigrant experience and working‑class life.

Her debut novel, Sparrow’s Song, was inspired by her early nursing career in Nebraska, where she came to admire the Germans from Russia she cared for at the end of their lives.

Originally from Southern California, she has spent her adult life in Nebraska.

Author Links:

Website: https://marileeaufdenkamp.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MarileeAufdenkampWriting/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/marileeaufdenkampwriting/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/55952096.Marilee_Aufdenkamp

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Renaissance Rivals by Karen Essex

Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/mdpO2E
For paperback orders: https://shop.karenessex.com

Available on Kindle Unlimited

I have an absolute treat for you today: an excerpt from the long‑awaited sequel to the global bestseller Leonardo’s Swans by screenwriter and award‑winning journalist Karen Essex.

The novel unfolds in Renaissance Italy, where Lucrezia Borgia and Isabella d’Este collide in a sumptuous story of intrigue, ambition, and buried secrets. It’s everything you could want from historical fiction—rich, dangerous, and irresistibly compelling.

About the novel:

Renaissance Rivals, the long-awaited sequel to the global bestseller Leonardo’s Swans, tells the story of the brutal rivalry between two of history’s most fascinating power women: Isabella d’Este, Marchesa of Mantua, celebrated in her own lifetime as “The First Lady of the World,” and Lucrezia Borgia, Duchess of Ferrara, daughter of the infamous Pope Alexander VI and one of the most maligned women in history.

Before Maggie O’Farrell’s doomed duchess in The Marriage Portrait, there were the women who built the courts, forged alliances, and commanded works of artistic genius. In both Renaissance Rivals and Leonardo’s Swans, Essex invites readers to step back one generation into the glittering courts of Renaissance Italy, where beauty, intellect, marriage, and ambition could determine the fate of nations.

The excerpt:

In the city of Rome, the Vatican, 1501

Lucrezia fell face up upon the gold brocade spread covering the bed, her spine sinking listlessly into the mattress while the room spun around her. Dust from the road still clung to her skirts, and her bodice reeked from days of travel. Her ladies tugged at her clothing, trying to free her from the fetid garments, but she waved them away.

She was weary. Weary from the jolting journey by horse, mule, and litter that had carried her home, but even more exhausted by the resistance her entire being had mounted against every mile traveled toward Rome.

Her arm failed her and dropped heavily onto the bed.

“Draw me a bath,” she murmured.

Once they had gone, she raised her hand and let it fall again upon the lavish coverlet, noticing that no dust rose from it. The extravagant decorations in her Vatican apartments were so new there had scarcely been time for dust to settle. She could still smell the dyes upon the rich velvets, tapestries, and brocades draped throughout the room and see the fresh-polished gleam of the newly crafted furnishings.

How beautiful it all was, this hastily assembled opulence, a whirl of deep colors and sumptuous textures arranged to please her and erase the memory of her final days within these very rooms, from which she had fled so suddenly only months before at the command of her father, His Holiness, Pope Alexander Borgia.

“I cannot tolerate your tears, Lucrezia,” he had said, never mind the reason for them. “Do you not trust us to know what is best for you?”

For the first time in her life, she had not immediately bent to his will, and he had sent her away to grieve behind the thick fortified walls of the fortress at Nepi in Lazio, north of Rome.

Even Cesare had neither stopped him nor wished to.

“You are not behaving like a Borgia,” Cesare had told her before turning his back as the litter carried her away.

The memory still stung now, despite that weeks later he had appeared at Nepi to reveal his plans and reassure her of his love.

Why had they not simply left her there?

Just as she had recovered her strength and begun to enjoy a life of solitude and reflection, the dreaded letter demanding her return had arrived. She had feared coming back to this Vatican chamber where she had suffered the greatest anguish of her life, but her father had anticipated this and assumed that fresh surroundings would erase the horrifying past.

Not a trace of the former décor remained. Everything had been swept away like yesterday’s gossip and remade into a setting for her future.

From her position upon the bed, she felt as though she were gazing upon a magnificent theatrical stage newly assembled for a grand production. Indeed, she suspected she was about to become a player in some new drama for which she had not yet been given her lines.

The spectacular painting of Venus, nude and reclining within a gilded frame upon an easel facing the bed, strongly suggested the nature of the role she was expected to perform. The goddess’s slightly parted pink lips seemed meant to lure the viewer into enchantment, yet to Lucrezia they appeared mocking.

Curled beneath knowing blue eyes, those lips looked on the verge of laughter. What did they know that she herself had yet to discover?

The pope had offered no explanation for summoning her back to Rome beyond claiming that he missed her and that it was time for her return. Perhaps he intended to travel and required her once again to oversee his secular affairs within the Vatican.

She had fulfilled those duties before, even before her twenty-first birthday, astonishing cardinals who wondered aloud what madness possessed the pope to leave a mere girl in charge while he traveled. When he announced that Lucrezia would govern in his stead and that her signature would carry his authority on legal documents, one of the more malicious old cardinals had risen and exclaimed: “But Your Holiness, she possesses no pen!”

The entire congregation had roared with laughter at the crude and overused euphemism for the male organ.

Regardless of gender, the cardinals remained perpetually enraged by the pope’s determination to elevate his children to greatness. Yet after months of performing administrative duties with the ease and grace of a seasoned magistrate, they had come to respect her, or at least those particular abilities.

The rest they neither respected nor ever would. And for that she could not entirely blame them, for she knew much of what she had done was sinful and shameful. Still, she took the sacraments daily and knew what must be done to repent.

She confessed directly to God, of course, for she could never tell the truth to her earthly confessors, who knew perfectly well who she was despite the chain metal and muslin curtain separating sinner from cleric within the confessional booths.

If she told the truth, she would be punished. Not directly. No, they punished her in subtler ways, by taking from her whatever she most cherished while showering her with luxuries and splendid things until she became too intoxicated by beauty to protest what had been done.

This last crime, however, had been different.

She had refused to be placated by silver and gold, by entertainments and distractions, by promises of a radiant future if only she obeyed. She had refused, and for that she had been banished. Then mysteriously she had been summoned back.

Before leaving Nepi, she had consulted the fortress astrologer in hopes of discovering why she was being recalled. The old seer had charted the movement of the stars and declared, Jupiter will soon shine favorably upon you, bestowing honors beyond your dreams within mere months of your return.

How much had Father paid for such a prophecy? she wondered.

Triggers: Child loss; miscarriages.

Karen Essex

Author Bio:

Karen Essex is the national and international bestselling author of RUN, DARLING, KLEOPATRA, PHARAOH, LEONARDO’S SWANS, STEALING ATHENA, DRACULA IN LOVE, AND BETTIE PAGE: LIFE OF A PINUP LEGEND. All feature iconic women—powerful women who seduced the world and ruled it.

Essex is also an active screenwriter and speaker, and an award-winning journalist. She divides her time between Los Angeles, New Orleans, and Europe. Her novels are published in twenty-nine languages.

Leonardo’s Swans, the prequel to Renaissance Rivals, was a runaway bestseller in Italy and won the prestigious Premio Roma for Foreign Fiction.

Author Links:

Website: https://www.karenessex.com
Twitter / X: https://x.com/KarenEssex
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/KarenEssexAuthor/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/karenessex/
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/karenessex/
Book Bub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/karen-essex
TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@karenessexwrites
Amazon Author Page: https://amzn.to/44OrSh5
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/22528.Karen_Essex
Follow Karen’s Substack newsletter, History. Sex. Power: https://substack.com/@karenessex

Tour Schedule Page: https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2026/07/blog-tour-renaissance-rivals-by-karen-essex.html

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