West of Santillane, Excerpt by Brook Allen

Desperate to escape a mundane future as a Virginia planter’s wife, Julia Hancock seizes her chance for adventure when she wins the heart of American hero William Clark. Though her husband is the famed explorer, Julia embarks on her own thrilling and perilous journey of self-discovery.

With her gaze ever westward, Julia possesses a hunger for knowledge and a passion for helping others. She falls in love with Will’s strength and generous manner, but, like her parents, he is a slave owner, and Julia harbors strong opinions against slavery. Still, her love for Will wins out, though he remains unaware of her beliefs.

Julia finds St. Louis to be a rough town with few of the luxuries to which she is accustomed, harboring scandalous politicians and miscreants of all types. As her husband and his best friend, Meriwether Lewis, work to establish an American government and plan to publish their highly anticipated memoirs, Julia struggles to assume the roles of both wife and mother. She is also drawn into the plight of an Indian family desperate to return to their own lands and becomes an advocate for Will’s enslaved.

When political rivals cause trouble, Julia’s clandestine aid to the Indians and enslaved of St. Louis draws unwanted attention, placing her at odds with her husband. Danger cloaks itself in far too many ways, leading her to embrace the courage to save herself and others through a challenge of forgiveness that will either restore the love she shares with Will or end it forever.

Excerpt

Major and Mrs. Christy lived across from us along the river. They were wonderful neighbors and also the owners of Christy’s Tavern.

Martha Christy was a quiet, private sort, but she made me a lovely satin pillow for the baby’s cradle. Even more thoughtful was her assumption that her visiting niece would suit me as a friend. Once we were acquainted, Polly came over daily by midmorning, full of sunny smiles and long, thick golden blond hair cascading over her shoulders. Dimples punctuated a nearly permanent smile that made her hazel-gray eyes twinkle. She was a few years younger than me, but I was dumbfounded that this tender-aged girl knew more about what was to happen in childbirth than I did since her mother had allowed her to assist at family births.

A week before Christmas, she came for her midmorning visit. I was so weary and sore that she soaked and massaged my feet, helped me into my nightgown and robe, then settled me on the settee downstairs, adding a log to the fire before covering me with a quilt and slipping out the door.

I must have slept a good two hours when I heard someone lightly knock.

“Will?” I murmured.

“No, it’s Meriwether,” he responded, apologetically peering in at me from the half-opened door.

“What time is it?” Blinking, I pulled myself up to a sitting position.

“Half-past the noon hour. I’m sorry to have awakened you.”

“No apology needed. Please come in.”

He chose a wingback chair across from me that I’d fallen in love with in Louisville on the day we’d gone furniture shopping. “Not long ago, William mentioned that after leaving Jonathan’s family last June, you missed a play you’d wished to see.”

“Mmm. The Taming of the Shrew. It was advertised while we were visiting. If only it had played while we were there. You of all people know how much I love Shakespeare.”

“A disappointment indeed—one I’d like to remedy.”

“How’s that?” Intrigued, I sat up straighter.

“I’ve prepared a little Shakespearean monologue for you. Consider it an early Christmas gift for a young lady who has everything—except tickets to a drama in Louisville, that is.”

I grinned broadly at his thoughtful surprise. Two words would never be associated with Meriwether Lewis: those being inconsiderate and uncreative. “Tragedy or comedy?” I queried.

“I won’t spoil the fun. You have to figure out which play it’s from and what character I am. Ready?”

“Yes, please!”

Meriwether showed me his back briefly, assuming character. When he turned about, he stood straighter and was no longer looking at me, but out toward an imaginary audience.

“I shall have glory by this losing day
More than Octavius and Mark Antony
By this vile conquest shall attain unto.”

I couldn’t help but interrupt. “One of the Roman plays, then—Antony and Cleopatra?”

Meriwether shook his head, diving back into character.

“So fare you well at once; for Brutus’s tongue
Hath almost ended his life’s history—”
“Julius Caesar! I remember this part. You’re Brutus.”

Meriwether grinned, nodding and slipping back into the soliloquy.

“Night hangs upon mine eyes; my bones would rest,
That have but labored to attain this hour.”

Since I knew it, I jumped in to help, playing the minor roles. “Fly, my lord, fly!”

“Hence!” He gestured as if sending the man ahead. “I will follow.”

I shook my head in rapt amazement.

“I prithee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord:
Thou art a fellow of a good respect;
Thy life hath had some smatch of honour in it:
Hold, then, my sword, and turn away thy face,
While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato?”

Without hesitation, I took on Strato so he could finish. “Give me your hand first. Fare you well, my lord.”

Meriwether grasped my hand with his left. “Farewell, good Strato,” he breathed.

He made a jerking movement, as though a real blade was piercing him. Slowly, like a tree falling after being cut, he collapsed sideways, not moving a muscle.

I sat breathless, deeply moved that he’d memorized and performed it especially for me. Once the pause of respectful silence had passed, I applauded. “Get up now. I don’t wish you dead any more than Strato wished it upon Brutus.”

He grinned from ear to ear as he rose in one fluid motion, brushing off his trousers and sweeping my hand into his before giving it a light kiss. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Clark. I pray this gift was adequate.”

I smiled at him. What a kindhearted person was Meriwether Lewis. I had to admit that we had such similarities it was a wonder that he and I hadn’t wound up together. But Meriwether held no attraction to me the way Will did. William Clark was all muscle, brawn, and rugged strength. Meriwether was more refined. Perhaps it was true that opposites did attract.

“It was a most appropriate gift,” I praised. “And what talent you possess, Governor.”

This Christmas wouldn’t be like any other I’d ever had. Because of my advanced pregnancy, we’d remain here at the house. But the New Year was knocking and would be so full of blessings—a new home of our own, a child to raise in love, and returning home to Santillane.

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Meet Brook Allen

Author Brook Allen has a passion for history. Her newest project, West of Santillane, spotlights history from a little closer to home in Botetourt County, Virginia. It’s the story of Julia Hancock, who married famed explorer, William Clark. Each character of this thrilling, adventurous period was researched throughout southwest Virginia and into Kentucky, Missouri, Montana, Idaho, and North Dakota. It launched in March of 2024.

Brook belongs to the Historical Novel Society and attends conferences as often as possible to study craft and meet fellow authors. In 2019, her novel Antonius: Son of Rome won a silver medal in the international Reader’s Favorite Book Reviewers Book Awards, then won First Place in the prestigious Chaucer Division in the Chanticleer International Book Awards, 2020. West of Santillane garnered international attention in Summer 2025 by becoming a Silver Medalist in the Independent Publishing Book Awards for best Mid-Atlantic Fiction. Also, it was a finalist for the Virginia Romance Writers Holt Medallion. Most recently, Brook appeared in Season 8 of Blueridge PBS’s WRITE AROUND THE CORNER.

Though she graduated from Asbury University with a B.A. in Music Education, Brook has always loved writing. She completed a Masters program at Hollins University with an emphasis in Ancient Roman studies, which helped prepare her for authoring her award-winning Antonius Trilogy.

Brook recently retired from public education and her personal interests include travel, cycling, hiking in the woods, reading, and spending downtime with her husband and big, black dog, Jak. She lives in the heart of southwest Virginia in the scenic Blue Ridge Mountains.