Here Lies Buried by Cathy Ann Rogers

PILAR SAGASTA steps into a world of cunning deception when she travels to Arizona to connect with her late grandfather’s sister, Virginia. Eager for details of their Mexican history before the family fled the political turbulence in 1916, Pilar realizes quickly that she made a mistake. Far from the loving relatives she envisioned, she finds a group of odious characters who doubt her motives and want nothing more than to drive her away.

Secrets buried deep in the past reach to the present generation and obscure motives in a family where no one is who they seem and everyone has a secret to hide.

Targeted Age Group:: 25-65

What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
What inspired me to write this book was a combination of my love of history and the curious dynamics in a dysfunctional family.

How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
I tried to create characters from my observations of people I’ve known. The difference is that I match every negative personality trait with sympathetic qualities that made them human, and make their actions plausible in the setting I created.

Book Sample
September 15, 2006
Cincinnati, Ohio

Pilar Sagasta tapped the touchpad on her Apple PowerBook and closed the window on the scanned documents she had been reading the last three hours. Full of dangerous encounters with defending armies, political unrest brought about by the struggle for human rights, espionage, intrigue, and betrayals by the government and by their own families, the ancestry she had compiled read like a sweeping saga of heroic deeds. The idea that she could have learned so much more about her great great-grandparents if her abuelo had been less guarded when he spoke of his Mexican roots and their immigration to the United States.
“Mexico is our past. The United States is our future. Dwelling in the past keeps you from moving forward,” he would say when she would ask about his parents. Bitterness toward Mexico stayed buried beneath his skin, exposed when someone picked at the scab encrusted over the wound that never healed.
“One thing I will tell you, mija, is that Josefina Paralelos was the gentlest and the bravest woman. Tender to her family. Ruthless to her enemies. No, I take that back, your bisabeula was the bravest person I have ever known. If you want to look up something from our past, look up the Soldaderas. When my father and uncle fought in the Revolution, she was there with the other wives and single women doing what they could to help. She rode a horse on an astride saddle, concocted homemade medicines for the soldiers’ injuries, cooked over an open fire, as well as being a quick draw with the two ivory-handled pistolas she carried in two bandolier holsters. She did all of this in the middle of battle.”
Pilar winced, her memories bringing him alive in her mind. She grinned as she replayed the story he had told often, her fingers moving along the silver frame holding his photograph.
Then she believed he was in the room with her. His weathered faced, creased from a lifetime of smiles, would softened at his own memories. “I remember her bandolier and how I counted the bullet loops on the front, and the shotgun loops on the back while she worked in the kitchen. As a boy, I thought it was normal for mothers to wear their pistols while cooking breakfast. I was so proud of her grace and strength. The saddest day in my life was the day I knew I’d never see her again,” he had said, ignoring the instinct to conceal his emotions.
Remembering the few stories he had told her about their crossing from Mexico to Eagle Pass, Texas, she held the leather notebook that safeguarded those few family stories close to her. She imagined their escape with Obregón’s soldiers close on their heels, hunting them down like criminals. Preserving her grandfather’s stories and adding to them as she learned more, kept him close, at least in spirit.
Loss swept over her as she thought about the gentle, wise man that had raised her after her parents died. She knew the sadness did not come from the absence of lost family members, but from the loss of her guardian angel, her spiritual guide, and her best friend, a void she feared no one would fill again.
Now, mental images played in her mind from those documents. Like the reels from a 1920’s silent film, she saw dashing young men, brave and fearless, fighting for justice and a better life alongside the likes of Pancho Villa and Emiliano Zapata. They risked their lives in the face of death warrants issued by corrupt government officials, coupled with hostility from family and friends afraid of the retribution. Known as the Villistas and Zapatistas, her ancestors struggled for equality that had eluded them for decades. Yet, many like her abuelo and his family fled across the border into the United States for safety, often never returning to the country they had fought to change.
Optimistic, Pilar blinked back tears as she moved to the kitchen. She opened the window over the sink and looked out onto the lush backyards of the homes in her neighborhood. Inhaling the fragrance of freshly mowed lawns lingering in Cincinnati’s moist late summer air, the breeze rushed over her like the embrace of a long lost friend. Energized by her resolve, she refilled her coffee mug, treated herself to a handful of chocolate wafer cookies, and started back to her computer.
The ringing telephone caught her off guard, giving her an adrenalin jolt. “Hello,” she said reaching out for the cordless to stop its insistent ringing.
“Glad I caught you. What are you up to?”
“Hi, Tammy.” She smiled hearing the voice of her closest friend since grade school.
“I’ve been going over the research I dug up on Pete’s side of the family. I found two phone numbers of ones still living in Arizona. Pete’s sister Virginia is still alive. At least she has an active number”
“I’m not sure about this. It’s creepy to invite strangers into your life. All you can be sure of is you share the same blood.”
“Is that so,” Pilar said with an edge of challenge hanging on the words.
“They could be any kind of degenerate or murderer, and there you go, walking right into the lion’s den never to be heard from again.”
“I don’t know how you can say things like that. You don’t know anything about them.”
“That’s the point. Neither do you,” Tammy said. “Alright then, who are these wonderful people you found that’s never shown any interest in you your whole life.”
Pilar reached for her family book to pull out a handwritten list. “As I said, there’s Virginia Rodchenko, Pete’s sister. She lives in Flagstaff where she and Pete grew up. The other names are Rod and Sylvie Folsom. I found a second number for Virginia in Phoenix with the Folsom name listed as others in the household. That must mean relatives.
“Or caretakers of the asylum.”
“Good grief, Tammy. You’re too cynical for your age.”
“Someone has to point out the obvious. Since I’ve known you longer than anyone outside your family, that’s my job.”
“I know what I’m doing. Don’t worry. I’m not as gullible as you think.”
“Right.”

Author Bio:
CATHY ANN ROGERS has a penchant for creating literary characters who imitate reality through their skewed sense of justice as well as their bittersweet victories.
Cathy attributes the shaping of her writer’s prowess to her solitary upbringing as an only child. Armed with a library card from her neighborhood branch in Cincinnati, she spent her childhood absorbed in suspenseful scenes depicted within the fiction of Christie and Conan-Doyle. Simultaneously, she built a mental library of potential plots while eavesdropping on the conversations of adults who discussed everything from Hollywood to History. The result of these blended influences is her fascination with plot twists and multi-generational storytelling in novels.
Following the dictates of her left-brain, Cathy pursued a degree and graduate certificate in accounting, establishing a tax and bookkeeping service for entrepreneurs.
Cathy weaves her tales from her Arizona desert townhome in the company of her Bichon Frises, Whitney and Sophie. She is currently working on the next installment of the Pilar Sagasta series Here Lies Hidden.

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