by Guest blogger Angela K Couch
There is something about finding the perfect title for your story, and then wondering if
most readers will see the depth and, even more importantly, how it applies to them.
Fire in a
Storm is a short story I wrote that recently released in the anthology
Out of the Storm. Set in
1934 USSR at the peak of religious persecution, there were definitely literal fires and storms.
In just over ten years the number of Russian Orthodox churches alone dropped from
29,584 to less than 500. Fire. Dynamite. And sometimes just sledgehammers.
All Christians felt communism’s growing resentment. Hundreds of thousands were
arrested, imprisoned in work camps, and murdered just for trying to practice their beliefs. Aren’t
we glad we don’t live in that time or place?
And yet that is only the surface. What would it have been like to be raised or just live in
that time and place? The school curriculum mocking your belief in God. Marxism, and by
extension atheism, the accepted reality. Education and science voiding God in the minds of your peers.
How hard would it have been to maintain faith in that storm? How much harder to find it?
Blurb: “Fire in a Storm”
USSR 1934 / He was secret police, and he knew his purpose. Religion was the enemy
and God, the deception. Then a glimpse of gold and silver, and the woman who wore it,
threatened everything he trusted.
Excerpt:
Pavel vaulted through the gap in the window, one hand pushing off of the heavy woolen
coat that had been placed over the shards of glass. He met the ground as one of the other officers
raced past. The man jerked, bringing his weapon to bear on Pavel.
“Avoid shooting just anyone, please,” Pavel grumbled, pushing him aside. “Where did
the other priest go? That was him, wasn’t it?”
“I think so,” the officer nodded. “He disappeared behind the church.”
Pavel sprinted to the back of the building. Shivering as moisture ran down his neck, he
pulled his coat’s black leather collar tight. The hiss of light rain meeting fire did little to hinder
the growing blaze. He scanned the narrow canal and the aspen grove beyond. Seeing nothing, he
crouched to examine the bank. The ground had been disturbed, a hint of grass ripped — probably
by a shoe sliding downward. Straightening, he followed the canal to a rotted footbridge, fallen in
halves to the bottom. He jumped in, sending up a spray of mud and water as his boots sank into
the shallow stream. Pistol ready, he pulled up one side of the waterlogged structure. There was a
feminine gasp.
“Anything?” An officer called from the edge of the grove.
For a moment, Pavel couldn’t pull his gaze from the two pools of terror shadowed by
long lashes. The girl, almost a woman, was undoubtedly the priest’s daughter. They had been
told there was one, but though his duty was clear, how could he bring himself to do it?
Angela K Couch is a writer of historical romance from Alberta, Canada. She grew up listening to
her father read chapters from his novels and decided young she would follow his path. As a
passionate believer in Christ, she can’t help her faith from permeating the stories she tells.
Besides writing, Angela enjoys martial arts, painting, gardening and chasing after her three sweet
munchkins. She is forever grateful for her supportive husband!
Angelakcouch.com,
Facebook,
Amazon,
Goodreads,
Twitter,
Pinterest.
Howdy, y'all! Crystal, here. Remember when I showed y'all that pile of material and such I got for Christmas? Come on now, it looked something like this...
What do ya think? '50s enough for ya?
