Return of the Heroine
An excerpt from Return of the Heroine won an Honorable Mention in the 2009 Writer’s Digest Writing Competition, and the entire novel earned a finalist position in the Hay-House Visions Fiction Writing Competition.
For Joan of Arc, it was about surviving in a man’s world. Nearly six hundred years later, at West Point, not much has changed.
One of the greatest heroines of all time returns and reveals the wisdom she received from Archangel Michael. “When you dare to commit to your deepest desires, your heart grows to accommodate the task at hand, no matter how daunting,” Archangel Michael advises Joan of Arc before she embarks on a mission that will change the course of history. With only eleven days left to live, she must take yet another leap of faith, surrender to the guidance of Archangel Michael, and set the record straight to ensure those in the future know the truth.
Her legacy reaches across the veil of time to awaken the heroine in all women. And for one twenty-first-century woman, Jane Archer, a West Point cadet, it means finding the courage to expose a cultural crime that has been disempowering women for centuries. In the process, she must learn to trust her own inner guidance.
from Return of the Heroine…
Rouen, France 1431
Jane skipped down the fi rst few stairs of West Point’s Administration
Building when she felt the back of her neck tighten. Something
was out of place. Th ough it was a warmish March day, cold seeped
out of the walls and slid icy fi ngers down her spine. She forced herself
to focus on the hem of her gray slacks.
Suddenly Jane’s vision shifted. Her slacks morphed into a
natural-fi ber cloth, heavy linen. Soft-soled leather boots covered
slightly smaller feet. Th e feel of cold stone through the thin leather
sent a paralyzing chill through her legs, and the fi ne blond hairs
on her arms stood alert. Right before her eyes the square stairwell
transformed into antiquated rounded castle walls. She put a hand
on her chest and let out an audible gasp.
She heard shuffl ing footfalls echoing in her head while her heart
beat out a more rapid rhythm with each downward step. She grabbed
hold of the handrail to steady herself; she was in two locations at
once, a palimpsest of sorts. Impressions of a time long gone bled
through into this time: split, in mind and spirit.
Some unseen hand tethered her to a dark, fearful scene. Death
hovered quietly by her side, waiting. Her chest constricted as she
gasped for air. Th e scent of burning wood stung her nostrils.
Somehow she had parted the delicate fabric of time. French
voices swam in her head. Movement was all around her, hands pulled
at her. Tired, hungry, and discouraged, she wanted to slump down,
give up. Far off noises of a gathered crowd made her ears ring. Jane
could hear Jehanne crying out, Oh, dearest God, help me!