On the western edge of the North End neighborhood in my
hometown of St. Joseph, Missouri, on a tall On the western edge of the North End neighborhood in my hometown of St. Joseph, Missouri, on a tall bluff overlooking the Missouri River with a view into Kansas, is one of my favorite places on earth. I call it Wyeth Hill but the official name is Huston Wyeth Scenic overlook, part of the Huston Wyeth Park. Who, you might ask, was Huston Wyeth? He was an entrepreneur and businessman born into a wealthy family. If you travel east toward the Belt Highway and Interstate 29 via Frederick Avenue, you might catch a glimpse of the Wyeth Estate he built in the 1920’s including a house called Wyethwood. The glory days are long past but those interested can see what remains along a stretch of homes built by the rich and would-be famous. I’ve never forgotten that my dad told me his father, a hardworking candy maker, once said the fine homes were built on the sweat and toil of working men.
All that aside, however, Wyeth Hill is a glorious place. To reach it, visitors wind through the older sections of the North End, climb Poulin Street, and travel a short distance to the parking area. A very long time ago, there was a bridge from nearby Prospect Avenue but even in my childhood, the bridge had collapsed and is totally gone. As a note of personal history, my mother was born at home at the last house on Prospect on Christmas Day 1936.
Wyeth Hill used to be much larger before I-29 cut a path between the park and neighborhoods. There were some wooded areas, more picnic spots, and a restroom probably built by the WPA where I always entered with fear I’d encounter a snake. I never did.
I recall a center island of tall, thick trees, long gone but the picnic shelter remains up a small incline from the parking lot. Playground equipment fills part of the green space, new since my childhood.
We hunted for morel mushrooms in the wooded areas, played on the wide grassy expanses, and picnicked under the shelter or at other picnic tables once scattered through the park. Sometimes my mom would fry chicken at home and we’d pack it up to enjoy at our picnic. Folks today pick up chicken at Church’s or KFC or grab a bag of fast food burgers for a casual picnic.
I never tired of the view, whether we watched the sun sink in the West or gazed at storms moving in our direction. There was no fence to keep lookers away from the edge of the bluff. I danced on the big rocks, now behind the fence (I was an exuberant child) and once, although much further down, a playmate and I slid down the bluff. We managed to stop at a small area without cascading all the way to Mac Arthur Drive below and clawed our way back to the top, We were promptly scolded by my mother.
Wyeth Hill is foremost in my thoughts because my latest novel, A Creed For Love (World Castle Publishing, releasing August 12, 2026, in eBook, paperback, and hardback) opens on Wyeth Hill with the heroine Maggie. It’s one of her favorite spots, too, and those who peruse the cover closely will see that she and Creed stand at Wyeth Hill, the river below them and the view behind them.
Here are the opening lines – although this is not the only time Maggie visits Wyeth Hill in the novel:
Standing at the top of her world, high above the Missouri River, Maggie Pierce remained motionless. Wyeth Hill had been a favorite place since childhood. If she hadn't lost some agility in the accident that claimed her husband's life, Maggie might have scaled the fence but didn't.
November sunshine peeked through the clouds and although most of the leaves had fallen, the underbrush had a few hints of autumn color. She hunched deeper into her jacket as she tugged the simple ring from her right hand. At first, she'd worn it on her left, then on a chain around her neck, and later moved it to her third right finger.
Maggie clutched it tightly for a moment, said a silent farewell to Rodney and the ring, then hurled it toward the river below. She watched as it spun until she lost sight of the gold circle. Tossing her wedding ring marked an end and a beginning. After three years, the time had come to move forward if she could.
She lingered for a few more minutes, and savored feeling of standing on the edge of the world. A soft wind teased her long hair, for once not bound into a ponytail or put up into a bun. The faint tang of woodsmoke came with the breeze, a sure indication autumn had arrived with winter close behind.
If you’d like to visit my childhood neighborhood, please view it through Maggie’s eyes. If you’re not familiar with the Fillmore area, where many of my ancestors lived before they headed to St. Joe, you will be after you read the story.
Here’s the blurb:
Three years after Maggie Pierce survived the wreck that claimed her husband's life, she has built a new life but she’s neither thriving nor happy. Neither is Creed King, a bull riding cowboy and handyman with baggage of his own. She’s urban and he’s as country as cornbread but once they meet, the bond between them is strong. Decisions loom large and events will strengthen their relationship or destroy it. If they want to move forward, they’ll have to do it together.
A brief description of Creed:
. Within ten minutes, the doorbell rang, and she opened it to find a lean, lanky man wearing bootcut jeans, a blue denim shirt, and a fringed leather jacket. He appeared younger than she expected, probably in his early thirties and wore a Western hat. A faint two-inch scar on the left side of his forehead marked his face but Maggie noted he was very handsome.
“I’m Creed King,” he told her in the deep drawl she remembered from the phone. “I hope I’m not too early.”
“No, not at all. Come in. I’m Maggie Pierce.”
He wiped his feet before entering and paused to gaze around the large living room. “I have my tools and stuff in the truck, but I need to see what I’m fixing.”
“Right.” She led him through the kitchen to the basement door and opened it. “The stairs are right here. The railing is loose and wobbles. I don’t go down much but when I do, I don’t want it to give way and fall. I suffered some injuries in a wreck a few years ago and my left leg sometimes gives way.”
And a glimpse of Maggie:
Creed took a long look at her as he finished his meal. He found her lovely, with a heart-shaped face and huge, dark blue eyes. Her brown hair had reddish highlights, which he thought were natural. He’d seen her wear it down, cascading past her shoulders, up in a messy bun held with a plastic clip, and in a ponytail. A scatter of faint freckles dotted her button nose and cheeks above her generous lips. A line from a Johnny Horton song popped into his head, pretty as a doll, pretty as can be, which described Maggie. Her face combined the beauty of a fairy tale princess with strength. He had no doubt she possessed inner fortitude. Although he knew no more than she had been widowed, Creed suspected there must be a story and wondered if she had been happy in her marriage. He had an inkling she hadn’t been. Something about the woman touched him, and if he wasn’t careful, he might become smitten. Risking his heart could be dangerous and he vowed to proceed with caution.
A Creed For Love will be available at World Castle Publishing, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and many more places on line and in actual stores.
For more about me and my other titles, check here:
https://www.amazon.com/stores/Lee-Ann-Sontheimer-Murphy/author/B004JPBM6I
https://www.worldcastlepublishing.com/lee-ann-sontheimer-murphy
I also write for Evernight Publishing and The Wild Rose Press.
On
the western edge of the North End neighborhood in my hometown of St. Joseph,
Missouri, on a tall
On
the western edge of the North End neighborhood in my hometown of St. Joseph,
Missouri, on a tall bluff overlooking the Missouri River with a view into
Kansas, is one of my favorite places on earth. I call it Wyeth Hill but the official
name is Huston Wyeth Scenic overlook, part of the Huston Wyeth Park. Who, you might
ask, was Huston Wyeth? He was an entrepreneur and businessman born into a wealthy
family. If you travel east toward the Belt Highway and Interstate 29 via
Frederick Avenue, you might catch a glimpse of the Wyeth Estate he built in the
1920’s including a house called Wyethwood. The glory days are long past but
those interested can see what remains along a stretch of homes built by the
rich and would-be famous. I’ve never forgotten that my dad told me his father,
a hardworking candy maker, once said the fine homes were built on the sweat and
toil of working men.
All that
aside, however, Wyeth Hill is a glorious place. To reach it, visitors wind
through the older sections of the North End, climb Poulin Street, and travel a
short distance to the parking area. A very long time ago, there was a bridge
from nearby Prospect Avenue but even in my childhood, the bridge had collapsed
and is totally gone. As a note of personal history, my mother was born at home
at the last house on Prospect on Christmas Day 1936.
Wyeth Hill used to be much larger before I-29
cut a path between the park and neighborhoods. There were some wooded areas, more
picnic spots, and a restroom probably built by the WPA where I always entered
with fear I’d encounter a snake. I never did.
I recall
a center island of tall, thick trees, long gone but the picnic shelter remains
up a small incline from the parking lot. Playground equipment fills part of the
green space, new since my childhood.
We hunted
for morel mushrooms in the wooded areas, played on the wide grassy expanses,
and picnicked under the shelter or at other picnic tables once scattered
through the park. Sometimes my mom would fry chicken at home and we’d pack it
up to enjoy at our picnic. Folks today pick up chicken at Church’s or KFC or
grab a bag of fast food burgers for a casual picnic.
I never
tired of the view, whether we watched the sun sink in the West or gazed at
storms moving in our direction. There was no fence to keep lookers away from
the edge of the bluff. I danced on the
big rocks, now behind the fence (I was an exuberant child) and once, although
much further down, a playmate and I slid down the bluff. We managed to stop at
a small area without cascading all the way to Mac Arthur Drive below and clawed
our way back to the top, We were promptly scolded by my mother.
Wyeth
Hill is foremost in my thoughts because my latest novel, A Creed For Love (World
Castle Publishing, releasing August 12, 2026, in eBook, paperback, and
hardback) opens on Wyeth Hill with the heroine Maggie. It’s one of her favorite
spots, too, and those who peruse the cover closely will see that she and Creed
stand at Wyeth Hill, the river below them and the view behind them.
Here are
the opening lines – although this is not the only time Maggie visits Wyeth Hill
in the novel:
Standing at the top of her world, high
above the Missouri River, Maggie Pierce remained motionless. Wyeth Hill had
been a favorite place since childhood. If she hadn't lost some agility in the
accident that claimed her husband's life, Maggie might have scaled the fence
but didn't.
November sunshine peeked through the clouds
and although most of the leaves had fallen, the underbrush had a few hints of
autumn color. She hunched deeper into her jacket as she tugged the simple ring
from her right hand. At first, she'd worn it on her left, then on a chain
around her neck, and later moved it to her third right finger.
Maggie clutched it tightly for a
moment, said a silent farewell to Rodney and the ring, then hurled it toward
the river below. She watched as it spun until she lost sight of the gold
circle. Tossing her wedding ring marked an end and a beginning. After three
years, the time had come to move forward if she could.
She lingered for a few more
minutes, and savored feeling of standing on the edge of the world. A soft wind teased her long hair, for once
not bound into a ponytail or put up into a bun. The faint tang of woodsmoke came
with the breeze, a sure indication autumn had arrived with winter close behind.
If you’d like to visit my childhood neighborhood, please
view it through Maggie’s eyes. If you’re not familiar with the Fillmore area,
where many of my ancestors lived before they headed to St. Joe, you will be
after you read the story.
Here’s the blurb:
Three years after Maggie
Pierce survived the wreck that claimed her husband's life, she has built a new
life but she’s neither thriving nor happy. Neither is Creed King, a bull
riding cowboy and handyman with baggage of his own. She’s urban and he’s as
country as cornbread but once they meet, the bond between them is strong.
Decisions loom large and events will strengthen their relationship or destroy
it. If they want to move forward, they’ll have to do it together.
A brief description of Creed:
.
Within ten minutes, the doorbell rang, and she opened it to find a lean,
lanky man wearing bootcut jeans, a blue denim shirt, and a fringed leather
jacket. He appeared younger than she
expected, probably in his early thirties and wore a Western hat. A faint
two-inch scar on the left side of his forehead marked his face but Maggie noted
he was very handsome.
“I’m Creed King,” he told her in
the deep drawl she remembered from the phone. “I hope I’m not too early.”
“No, not at all. Come in. I’m Maggie Pierce.”
He wiped his feet before entering
and paused to gaze around the large living room. “I have my tools and stuff in the truck, but
I need to see what I’m fixing.”
“Right.” She led him through the
kitchen to the basement door and opened it.
“The stairs are right here. The railing is loose and wobbles. I don’t go down much but when I do, I don’t
want it to give way and fall. I suffered
some injuries in a wreck a few years ago and my left leg sometimes gives way.”
And a glimpse of Maggie:
Creed took a long look at her as he finished
his meal. He found her lovely, with a heart-shaped face and huge, dark blue
eyes. Her brown hair had reddish highlights, which he thought were
natural. He’d seen her wear it down,
cascading past her shoulders, up in a messy bun held with a plastic clip, and
in a ponytail. A scatter of faint freckles dotted her button nose and cheeks
above her generous lips. A line from a Johnny Horton song popped into his head,
pretty as a doll, pretty as can be, which described Maggie. Her face combined the beauty of a fairy tale
princess with strength. He had no doubt she possessed inner fortitude. Although
he knew no more than she had been widowed, Creed suspected there must be a
story and wondered if she had been happy in her marriage. He had an inkling she
hadn’t been. Something about the woman touched him, and if he wasn’t careful,
he might become smitten. Risking his heart could be dangerous and he vowed to
proceed with caution.
A Creed For Love will be available at World Castle Publishing,
Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and many more places on line and in actual stores.
For more
about me and my other titles, check here:
https://www.amazon.com/stores/Lee-Ann-Sontheimer-Murphy/author/B004JPBM6I
https://www.worldcastlepublishing.com/lee-ann-sontheimer-murphy
I also
write for Evernight Publishing and The Wild Rose Press.
bluff overlooking the Missouri River with a view into
Kansas, is one of my favorite places on earth. I call it Wyeth Hill but the official
name is Huston Wyeth Scenic overlook, part of the Huston Wyeth Park. Who, you might
ask, was Huston Wyeth? He was an entrepreneur and businessman born into a wealthy
family. If you travel east toward the Belt Highway and Interstate 29 via
Frederick Avenue, you might catch a glimpse of the Wyeth Estate he built in the
1920’s including a house called Wyethwood. The glory days are long past but
those interested can see what remains along a stretch of homes built by the
rich and would-be famous. I’ve never forgotten that my dad told me his father,
a hardworking candy maker, once said the fine homes were built on the sweat and
toil of working men.
All that
aside, however, Wyeth Hill is a glorious place. To reach it, visitors wind
through the older sections of the North End, climb Poulin Street, and travel a
short distance to the parking area. A very long time ago, there was a bridge
from nearby Prospect Avenue but even in my childhood, the bridge had collapsed
and is totally gone. As a note of personal history, my mother was born at home
at the last house on Prospect on Christmas Day 1936.
Wyeth Hill used to be much larger before I-29
cut a path between the park and neighborhoods. There were some wooded areas, more
picnic spots, and a restroom probably built by the WPA where I always entered
with fear I’d encounter a snake. I never did.
I recall
a center island of tall, thick trees, long gone but the picnic shelter remains
up a small incline from the parking lot. Playground equipment fills part of the
green space, new since my childhood.
We hunted
for morel mushrooms in the wooded areas, played on the wide grassy expanses,
and picnicked under the shelter or at other picnic tables once scattered
through the park. Sometimes my mom would fry chicken at home and we’d pack it
up to enjoy at our picnic. Folks today pick up chicken at Church’s or KFC or
grab a bag of fast food burgers for a casual picnic.
I never
tired of the view, whether we watched the sun sink in the West or gazed at
storms moving in our direction. There was no fence to keep lookers away from
the edge of the bluff. I danced on the
big rocks, now behind the fence (I was an exuberant child) and once, although
much further down, a playmate and I slid down the bluff. We managed to stop at
a small area without cascading all the way to Mac Arthur Drive below and clawed
our way back to the top, We were promptly scolded by my mother.
Wyeth
Hill is foremost in my thoughts because my latest novel, A Creed For Love (World
Castle Publishing, releasing August 12, 2026, in eBook, paperback, and
hardback) opens on Wyeth Hill with the heroine Maggie. It’s one of her favorite
spots, too, and those who peruse the cover closely will see that she and Creed
stand at Wyeth Hill, the river below them and the view behind them.
Here are
the opening lines – although this is not the only time Maggie visits Wyeth Hill
in the novel:
Standing at the top of her world, high
above the Missouri River, Maggie Pierce remained motionless. Wyeth Hill had
been a favorite place since childhood. If she hadn't lost some agility in the
accident that claimed her husband's life, Maggie might have scaled the fence
but didn't.
November sunshine peeked through the clouds
and although most of the leaves had fallen, the underbrush had a few hints of
autumn color. She hunched deeper into her jacket as she tugged the simple ring
from her right hand. At first, she'd worn it on her left, then on a chain
around her neck, and later moved it to her third right finger.
Maggie clutched it tightly for a
moment, said a silent farewell to Rodney and the ring, then hurled it toward
the river below. She watched as it spun until she lost sight of the gold
circle. Tossing her wedding ring marked an end and a beginning. After three
years, the time had come to move forward if she could.
She lingered for a few more
minutes, and savored feeling of standing on the edge of the world. A soft wind teased her long hair, for once
not bound into a ponytail or put up into a bun. The faint tang of woodsmoke came
with the breeze, a sure indication autumn had arrived with winter close behind.
If you’d like to visit my childhood neighborhood, please
view it through Maggie’s eyes. If you’re not familiar with the Fillmore area,
where many of my ancestors lived before they headed to St. Joe, you will be
after you read the story.
Here’s the blurb:
Three years after Maggie
Pierce survived the wreck that claimed her husband's life, she has built a new
life but she’s neither thriving nor happy. Neither is Creed King, a bull
riding cowboy and handyman with baggage of his own. She’s urban and he’s as
country as cornbread but once they meet, the bond between them is strong.
Decisions loom large and events will strengthen their relationship or destroy
it. If they want to move forward, they’ll have to do it together.
A brief description of Creed:
.
Within ten minutes, the doorbell rang, and she opened it to find a lean,
lanky man wearing bootcut jeans, a blue denim shirt, and a fringed leather
jacket. He appeared younger than she
expected, probably in his early thirties and wore a Western hat. A faint
two-inch scar on the left side of his forehead marked his face but Maggie noted
he was very handsome.
“I’m Creed King,” he told her in
the deep drawl she remembered from the phone. “I hope I’m not too early.”
“No, not at all. Come in. I’m Maggie Pierce.”
He wiped his feet before entering
and paused to gaze around the large living room. “I have my tools and stuff in the truck, but
I need to see what I’m fixing.”
“Right.” She led him through the
kitchen to the basement door and opened it.
“The stairs are right here. The railing is loose and wobbles. I don’t go down much but when I do, I don’t
want it to give way and fall. I suffered
some injuries in a wreck a few years ago and my left leg sometimes gives way.”
And a glimpse of Maggie:
Creed took a long look at her as he finished
his meal. He found her lovely, with a heart-shaped face and huge, dark blue
eyes. Her brown hair had reddish highlights, which he thought were
natural. He’d seen her wear it down,
cascading past her shoulders, up in a messy bun held with a plastic clip, and
in a ponytail. A scatter of faint freckles dotted her button nose and cheeks
above her generous lips. A line from a Johnny Horton song popped into his head,
pretty as a doll, pretty as can be, which described Maggie. Her face combined the beauty of a fairy tale
princess with strength. He had no doubt she possessed inner fortitude. Although
he knew no more than she had been widowed, Creed suspected there must be a
story and wondered if she had been happy in her marriage. He had an inkling she
hadn’t been. Something about the woman touched him, and if he wasn’t careful,
he might become smitten. Risking his heart could be dangerous and he vowed to
proceed with caution.
A Creed For Love will be available at World Castle Publishing,
Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and many more places on line and in actual stores.
For more
about me and my other titles, check here:
https://www.amazon.com/stores/Lee-Ann-Sontheimer-Murphy/author/B004JPBM6I
https://www.worldcastlepublishing.com/lee-ann-sontheimer-murphy
I also
write for Evernight Publishing and The Wild Rose Press.
On
the western edge of the North End neighborhood in my hometown of St. Joseph,
Missouri, on a tall bluff overlooking the Missouri River with a view into
Kansas, is one of my favorite places on earth. I call it Wyeth Hill but the official
name is Huston Wyeth Scenic overlook, part of the Huston Wyeth Park. Who, you might
ask, was Huston Wyeth? He was an entrepreneur and businessman born into a wealthy
family. If you travel east toward the Belt Highway and Interstate 29 via
Frederick Avenue, you
On
the western edge of the North End neighborhood in my hometown of St. Joseph,
Missouri, on a tall bluff overlooking the Missouri River with a view into
Kansas, is one of my favorite places on earth. I call it Wyeth Hill but the official
name is Huston Wyeth Scenic overlook, part of the Huston Wyeth Park. Who, you might
ask, was Huston Wyeth? He was an entrepreneur and businessman born into a wealthy
family. If you travel east toward the Belt Highway and Interstate 29 via
Frederick Avenue, you might catch a glimpse of the Wyeth Estate he built in the
1920’s including a house called Wyethwood. The glory days are long past but
those interested can see what remains along a stretch of homes built by the
rich and would-be famous. I’ve never forgotten that my dad told me his father,
a hardworking candy maker, once said the fine homes were built on the sweat and
toil of working men.
All that
aside, however, Wyeth Hill is a glorious place. To reach it, visitors wind
through the older sections of the North End, climb Poulin Street, and travel a
short distance to the parking area. A very long time ago, there was a bridge
from nearby Prospect Avenue but even in my childhood, the bridge had collapsed
and is totally gone. As a note of personal history, my mother was born at home
at the last house on Prospect on Christmas Day 1936.
Wyeth Hill used to be much larger before I-29
cut a path between the park and neighborhoods. There were some wooded areas, more
picnic spots, and a restroom probably built by the WPA where I always entered
with fear I’d encounter a snake. I never did.
I recall
a center island of tall, thick trees, long gone but the picnic shelter remains
up a small incline from the parking lot. Playground equipment fills part of the
green space, new since my childhood.
We hunted
for morel mushrooms in the wooded areas, played on the wide grassy expanses,
and picnicked under the shelter or at other picnic tables once scattered
through the park. Sometimes my mom would fry chicken at home and we’d pack it
up to enjoy at our picnic. Folks today pick up chicken at Church’s or KFC or
grab a bag of fast food burgers for a casual picnic.
I never
tired of the view, whether we watched the sun sink in the West or gazed at
storms moving in our direction. There was no fence to keep lookers away from
the edge of the bluff. I danced on the
big rocks, now behind the fence (I was an exuberant child) and once, although
much further down, a playmate and I slid down the bluff. We managed to stop at
a small area without cascading all the way to Mac Arthur Drive below and clawed
our way back to the top, We were promptly scolded by my mother.
Wyeth
Hill is foremost in my thoughts because my latest novel, A Creed For Love (World
Castle Publishing, releasing August 12, 2026, in eBook, paperback, and
hardback) opens on Wyeth Hill with the heroine Maggie. It’s one of her favorite
spots, too, and those who peruse the cover closely will see that she and Creed
stand at Wyeth Hill, the river below them and the view behind them.
Here are
the opening lines – although this is not the only time Maggie visits Wyeth Hill
in the novel:
Standing at the top of her world, high
above the Missouri River, Maggie Pierce remained motionless. Wyeth Hill had
been a favorite place since childhood. If she hadn't lost some agility in the
accident that claimed her husband's life, Maggie might have scaled the fence
but didn't.
November sunshine peeked through the clouds
and although most of the leaves had fallen, the underbrush had a few hints of
autumn color. She hunched deeper into her jacket as she tugged the simple ring
from her right hand. At first, she'd worn it on her left, then on a chain
around her neck, and later moved it to her third right finger.
Maggie clutched it tightly for a
moment, said a silent farewell to Rodney and the ring, then hurled it toward
the river below. She watched as it spun until she lost sight of the gold
circle. Tossing her wedding ring marked an end and a beginning. After three
years, the time had come to move forward if she could.
She lingered for a few more
minutes, and savored feeling of standing on the edge of the world. A soft wind teased her long hair, for once
not bound into a ponytail or put up into a bun. The faint tang of woodsmoke came
with the breeze, a sure indication autumn had arrived with winter close behind.
If you’d like to visit my childhood neighborhood, please
view it through Maggie’s eyes. If you’re not familiar with the Fillmore area,
where many of my ancestors lived before they headed to St. Joe, you will be
after you read the story.
Here’s the blurb:
Three years after Maggie
Pierce survived the wreck that claimed her husband's life, she has built a new
life but she’s neither thriving nor happy. Neither is Creed King, a bull
riding cowboy and handyman with baggage of his own. She’s urban and he’s as
country as cornbread but once they meet, the bond between them is strong.
Decisions loom large and events will strengthen their relationship or destroy
it. If they want to move forward, they’ll have to do it together.
A brief description of Creed:
.
Within ten minutes, the doorbell rang, and she opened it to find a lean,
lanky man wearing bootcut jeans, a blue denim shirt, and a fringed leather
jacket. He appeared younger than she
expected, probably in his early thirties and wore a Western hat. A faint
two-inch scar on the left side of his forehead marked his face but Maggie noted
he was very handsome.
“I’m Creed King,” he told her in
the deep drawl she remembered from the phone. “I hope I’m not too early.”
“No, not at all. Come in. I’m Maggie Pierce.”
He wiped his feet before entering
and paused to gaze around the large living room. “I have my tools and stuff in the truck, but
I need to see what I’m fixing.”
“Right.” She led him through the
kitchen to the basement door and opened it.
“The stairs are right here. The railing is loose and wobbles. I don’t go down much but when I do, I don’t
want it to give way and fall. I suffered
some injuries in a wreck a few years ago and my left leg sometimes gives way.”
And a glimpse of Maggie:
Creed took a long look at her as he finished
his meal. He found her lovely, with a heart-shaped face and huge, dark blue
eyes. Her brown hair had reddish highlights, which he thought were
natural. He’d seen her wear it down,
cascading past her shoulders, up in a messy bun held with a plastic clip, and
in a ponytail. A scatter of faint freckles dotted her button nose and cheeks
above her generous lips. A line from a Johnny Horton song popped into his head,
pretty as a doll, pretty as can be, which described Maggie. Her face combined the beauty of a fairy tale
princess with strength. He had no doubt she possessed inner fortitude. Although
he knew no more than she had been widowed, Creed suspected there must be a
story and wondered if she had been happy in her marriage. He had an inkling she
hadn’t been. Something about the woman touched him, and if he wasn’t careful,
he might become smitten. Risking his heart could be dangerous and he vowed to
proceed with caution.
A Creed For Love will be available at World Castle Publishing,
Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and many more places on line and in actual stores.
For more
about me and my other titles, check here:
https://www.amazon.com/stores/Lee-Ann-Sontheimer-Murphy/author/B004JPBM6I
https://www.worldcastlepublishing.com/lee-ann-sontheimer-murphy
I also
write for Evernight Publishing and The Wild Rose Press.
might catch a glimpse of the Wyeth Estate he built in the
1920’s including a house called Wyethwood. The glory days are long past but
those interested can see what remains along a stretch of homes built by the
rich and would-be famous. I’ve never forgotten that my dad told me his father,
a hardworking candy maker, once said the fine homes were built on the sweat and
toil of working men.
All that
aside, however, Wyeth Hill is a glorious place. To reach it, visitors wind
through the older sections of the North End, climb Poulin Street, and travel a
short distance to the parking area. A very long time ago, there was a bridge
from nearby Prospect Avenue but even in my childhood, the bridge had collapsed
and is totally gone. As a note of personal history, my mother was born at home
at the last house on Prospect on Christmas Day 1936.
Wyeth Hill used to be much larger before I-29
cut a path between the park and neighborhoods. There were some wooded areas, more
picnic spots, and a restroom probably built by the WPA where I always entered
with fear I’d encounter a snake. I never did.
I recall
a center island of tall, thick trees, long gone but the picnic shelter remains
up a small incline from the parking lot. Playground equipment fills part of the
green space, new since my childhood.
We hunted
for morel mushrooms in the wooded areas, played on the wide grassy expanses,
and picnicked under the shelter or at other picnic tables once scattered
through the park. Sometimes my mom would fry chicken at home and we’d pack it
up to enjoy at our picnic. Folks today pick up chicken at Church’s or KFC or
grab a bag of fast food burgers for a casual picnic.
I never
tired of the view, whether we watched the sun sink in the West or gazed at
storms moving in our direction. There was no fence to keep lookers away from
the edge of the bluff. I danced on the
big rocks, now behind the fence (I was an exuberant child) and once, although
much further down, a playmate and I slid down the bluff. We managed to stop at
a small area without cascading all the way to Mac Arthur Drive below and clawed
our way back to the top, We were promptly scolded by my mother.
Wyeth
Hill is foremost in my thoughts because my latest novel, A Creed For Love (World
Castle Publishing, releasing August 12, 2026, in eBook, paperback, and
hardback) opens on Wyeth Hill with the heroine Maggie. It’s one of her favorite
spots, too, and those who peruse the cover closely will see that she and Creed
stand at Wyeth Hill, the river below them and the view behind them.
Here are
the opening lines – although this is not the only time Maggie visits Wyeth Hill
in the novel:
Standing at the top of her world, high
above the Missouri River, Maggie Pierce remained motionless. Wyeth Hill had
been a favorite place since childhood. If she hadn't lost some agility in the
accident that claimed her husband's life, Maggie might have scaled the fence
but didn't.
November sunshine peeked through the clouds
and although most of the leaves had fallen, the underbrush had a few hints of
autumn color. She hunched deeper into her jacket as she tugged the simple ring
from her right hand. At first, she'd worn it on her left, then on a chain
around her neck, and later moved it to her third right finger.
Maggie clutched it tightly for a
moment, said a silent farewell to Rodney and the ring, then hurled it toward
the river below. She watched as it spun until she lost sight of the gold
circle. Tossing her wedding ring marked an end and a beginning. After three
years, the time had come to move forward if she could.
She lingered for a few more
minutes, and savored feeling of standing on the edge of the world. A soft wind teased her long hair, for once
not bound into a ponytail or put up into a bun. The faint tang of woodsmoke came
with the breeze, a sure indication autumn had arrived with winter close behind.
If you’d like to visit my childhood neighborhood, please
view it through Maggie’s eyes. If you’re not familiar with the Fillmore area,
where many of my ancestors lived before they headed to St. Joe, you will be
after you read the story.
Here’s the blurb:
Three years after Maggie
Pierce survived the wreck that claimed her husband's life, she has built a new
life but she’s neither thriving nor happy. Neither is Creed King, a bull
riding cowboy and handyman with baggage of his own. She’s urban and he’s as
country as cornbread but once they meet, the bond between them is strong.
Decisions loom large and events will strengthen their relationship or destroy
it. If they want to move forward, they’ll have to do it together.
A brief description of Creed:
.
Within ten minutes, the doorbell rang, and she opened it to find a lean,
lanky man wearing bootcut jeans, a blue denim shirt, and a fringed leather
jacket. He appeared younger than she
expected, probably in his early thirties and wore a Western hat. A faint
two-inch scar on the left side of his forehead marked his face but Maggie noted
he was very handsome.
“I’m Creed King,” he told her in
the deep drawl she remembered from the phone. “I hope I’m not too early.”
“No, not at all. Come in. I’m Maggie Pierce.”
He wiped his feet before entering
and paused to gaze around the large living room. “I have my tools and stuff in the truck, but
I need to see what I’m fixing.”
“Right.” She led him through the
kitchen to the basement door and opened it.
“The stairs are right here. The railing is loose and wobbles. I don’t go down much but when I do, I don’t
want it to give way and fall. I suffered
some injuries in a wreck a few years ago and my left leg sometimes gives way.”
And a glimpse of Maggie:
Creed took a long look at her as he finished
his meal. He found her lovely, with a heart-shaped face and huge, dark blue
eyes. Her brown hair had reddish highlights, which he thought were
natural. He’d seen her wear it down,
cascading past her shoulders, up in a messy bun held with a plastic clip, and
in a ponytail. A scatter of faint freckles dotted her button nose and cheeks
above her generous lips. A line from a Johnny Horton song popped into his head,
pretty as a doll, pretty as can be, which described Maggie. Her face combined the beauty of a fairy tale
princess with strength. He had no doubt she possessed inner fortitude. Although
he knew no more than she had been widowed, Creed suspected there must be a
story and wondered if she had been happy in her marriage. He had an inkling she
hadn’t been. Something about the woman touched him, and if he wasn’t careful,
he might become smitten. Risking his heart could be dangerous and he vowed to
proceed with caution.
A Creed For Love will be available at World Castle Publishing,
Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and many more places on line and in actual stores.
For more
about me and my other titles, check here:
https://www.amazon.com/stores/Lee-Ann-Sontheimer-Murphy/author/B004JPBM6I
https://www.worldcastlepublishing.com/lee-ann-sontheimer-murphy
I also
write for Evernight Publishing and The Wild Rose Press.
bluff overlooking the
Missouri River with a view into Kansas, is one of my favorite places on
earth. I call it Wyeth Hill but the official name is Huston Wyeth Scenic
overlook, part of the Huston Wyeth Park. Who, you might ask, was Huston
Wyeth? He was an entrepreneur and businessman born into a wealthy
family. If you travel east toward the Belt Highway and Interstate 29 via
Frederick Avenue, you might catch a glimpse of the Wyeth Estate he
built in the 1920’s including a house called Wyethwood. The glory days
are long past but those interested can see what remains along a stretch
of homes built by the rich and would-be famous. I’ve never forgotten
that my dad told me his father, a hardworking candy maker, once said the
fine homes were built on the sweat and toil of working men.
All
that aside, however, Wyeth Hill is a glorious place. To reach it,
visitors wind through the older sections of the North End, climb Poulin
Street, and travel a short distance to the parking area. A very long
time ago, there was a bridge from nearby Prospect Avenue but even in my
childhood, the bridge had collapsed and is totally gone. As a note of
personal history, my mother was born at home at the last house on
Prospect on Christmas Day 1936.
Wyeth Hill used to be
much larger before I-29 cut a path between the park and neighborhoods.
There were some wooded areas, more picnic spots, and a restroom probably
built by the WPA where I always entered with fear I’d encounter a
snake. I never did.
I recall a center island of tall,
thick trees, long gone but the picnic shelter remains up a small
incline from the parking lot. Playground equipment fills part of the
green space, new since my childhood.
We hunted for
morel mushrooms in the wooded areas, played on the wide grassy expanses,
and picnicked under the shelter or at other picnic tables once
scattered through the park. Sometimes my mom would fry chicken at home
and we’d pack it up to enjoy at our picnic. Folks today pick up chicken
at Church’s or KFC or grab a bag of fast food burgers for a casual
picnic.
I never tired of the view, whether we watched
the sun sink in the West or gazed at storms moving in our direction.
There was no fence to keep lookers away from the edge of the bluff. I
danced on the big rocks, now behind the fence (I was an exuberant child)
and once, although much further down, a playmate and I slid down the
bluff. We managed to stop at a small area without cascading all the way
to Mac Arthur Drive below and clawed our way back to the top, We were
promptly scolded by my mother.
Wyeth Hill is foremost in my thoughts because my latest novel, A Creed For Love (World
Castle Publishing, releasing August 12, 2026, in eBook, paperback, and
hardback) opens on Wyeth Hill with the heroine Maggie. It’s one of her
favorite spots, too, and those who peruse the cover closely will see
that she and Creed stand at Wyeth Hill, the river below them and the
view behind them. The novel is more than a love story; it’s a family
saga as well.
Here are the opening lines – although this is not the only time Maggie visits Wyeth Hill in the novel:
Standing
at the top of her world, high above the Missouri River, Maggie Pierce
remained motionless. Wyeth Hill had been a favorite place since
childhood. If she hadn’t lost some agility in the accident that claimed
her husband’s life, Maggie might have scaled the fence but didn’t.
November
sunshine peeked through the clouds and although most of the leaves had
fallen, the underbrush had a few hints of autumn color. She hunched
deeper into her jacket as she tugged the simple ring from her right
hand. At first, she’d worn it on her left, then on a chain around her
neck, and later moved it to her third right finger.
Maggie
clutched it tightly for a moment, said a silent farewell to Rodney and
the ring, then hurled it toward the river below. She watched as it spun
until she lost sight of the gold circle. Tossing her wedding ring marked
an end and a beginning. After three years, the time had come to move
forward if she could.
She lingered for a few more
minutes, and savored feeling of standing on the edge of the world. A
soft wind teased her long hair, for once not bound into a ponytail or
put up into a bun. The faint tang of woodsmoke came with the breeze, a
sure indication autumn had arrived with winter close behind.
If
you’d like to visit my childhood neighborhood, please view it through
Maggie’s eyes. If you’re not familiar with the Fillmore area, where many
of my ancestors lived before they headed to St. Joe, you will be after
you read the story.
Here’s the blurb:
Three
years after Maggie Pierce survived the wreck that claimed her husband’s
life, she has built a new life but she’s neither thriving nor happy.
Neither is Creed King, a bull riding cowboy and handyman with baggage of
his own. She’s urban and he’s as country as cornbread but once they
meet, the bond between them is strong. Decisions loom large and events
will strengthen their relationship or destroy it. If they want to move
forward, they’ll have to do it together.
A brief description of Creed:
.
Within ten minutes, the doorbell rang, and she opened it to find a
lean, lanky man wearing bootcut jeans, a blue denim shirt, and a fringed
leather jacket. He appeared younger than she expected, probably in his
early thirties and wore a Western hat. A faint two-inch scar on the left
side of his forehead marked his face but Maggie noted he was very
handsome.
“I’m Creed King,” he told her in the deep drawl she remembered from the phone. “I hope I’m not too early.”
“No, not at all. Come in. I’m Maggie Pierce.”
He
wiped his feet before entering and paused to gaze around the large
living room. “I have my tools and stuff in the truck, but I need to see
what I’m fixing.”
“Right.” She led him through the
kitchen to the basement door and opened it. “The stairs are right here.
The railing is loose and wobbles. I don’t go down much but when I do, I
don’t want it to give way and fall. I suffered some injuries in a wreck a
few years ago and my left leg sometimes gives way.”
And a glimpse of Maggie:
Creed
took a long look at her as he finished his meal. He found her lovely,
with a heart-shaped face and huge, dark blue eyes. Her brown hair had
reddish highlights, which he thought were natural. He’d seen her wear it
down, cascading past her shoulders, up in a messy bun held with a
plastic clip, and in a ponytail. A scatter of faint freckles dotted her
button nose and cheeks above her generous lips. A line from a Johnny
Horton song popped into his head, pretty as a doll, pretty as can be, which
described Maggie. Her face combined the beauty of a fairy tale princess
with strength. He had no doubt she possessed inner fortitude. Although
he knew no more than she had been widowed, Creed suspected there must be
a story and wondered if she had been happy in her marriage. He had an
inkling she hadn’t been. Something about the woman touched him, and if
he wasn’t careful, he might become smitten. Risking his heart could be
dangerous and he vowed to proceed with caution.
A Creed For Love will be available at World Castle Publishing, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and many more places on line and in actual stores.
For more about me and my other titles, check here:
https://www.amazon.com/stores/Lee-Ann-Sontheimer-Murphy/author/B004JPBM6I
https://www.worldcastlepublishing.com/lee-ann-sontheimer-murphy
I also write for Evernight Publishing and The Wild Rose Press.
