Healer of Carthage

Dear Reader,

Thank you for picking up Lynne Gentry’s fabulous first novel and the beginning of the Carthage Chronicles!

A mysterious disappearance, archaeology, time travel, medical suspense, political intrigue, plagues, gladiators, star-crossed romance—what more could you ask for? When I first picked up
Healer of Carthage
to read, I was immediately drawn in and could not stop! I’m sure you know the feeling, and if you don’t, then you are about to.

I am convinced that you will love Lisbeth and Cyprian and their breathtaking adventure as much as I do, and so for a limited time we’re offering
Healer of Carthage
at a special introductory price of $9.99 as an invitation to readers everywhere to leap through the portal with Lisbeth into ancient Roman Carthage and see for themselves!

We can’t wait for you to join the ride and become one of Lynne’s first fans! Thank you for supporting new authors.

Best,

Becky Nesbitt

VP, Editor-in-Chief

Praise for
Healer of Carthage

“
Healer of Carthage
held me captive from the first page to the last. Lynne Gentry’s authentic voice and rich detail in this breathtaking time-travel adventure delight with every twist. Gladiator games, plagues, romance, and high-stakes political intrigue carried me from the filthy streets of ancient Tunisia to its lavish palaces with a cast of characters I won’t soon forget. Highly recommended!”

—Carla Stewart, award-winning author of
Chasing Lilacs
and
Sweet Dreams

“Until recently, I didn’t think there could be a time-travel book that was also Christian. This book blew that idea right out of my head. Lynne Gentry has written a wonderful time-travel story that has elements of medical suspense as well, one of my favorite genres. Her characters leapt off the page, grabbed my heart, and pulled me through the portal. I lived every minute with them. The only problem is that I will have to wait awhile before the next installment comes. Write faster, Lynne!”

—Lena Nelson Dooley, award-winning author of
Love Finds You in Golden New Mexico, Maggie’s Journey, Mary’s Blessing,
and
Catherine’s Pursuit

“With her debut novel, Ms. Gentry has proven to be a masterful storyteller.
Healer of Carthage
is full of depth and emotion, twists and turns that carry the reader away to ancient Rome. From the first page to the last, the reader is instantly taken into a world of emotion, secrets, and political intrigue. Ultimately, this is a story about healing past wounds and discovering love . . . in its many varied forms. I highly recommend accepting this author’s invitation to fall into another world. A wonderful trip awaits.”

—Kellie Coates Gilbert, author of
Mother of Pearl

“What a wonderful premise!
Healer of Carthage
follows Lisbeth, a modern-day doctor, as she’s transported through time to ancient Carthage. I found it fascinating to watch Lisbeth apply her knowledge of medicine to a group of very early Christians. This novel is rich in detail and drama. A unique and terrific debut by talented author Lynne Gentry!”

—Becky Wade, author of
Undeniably Yours

“Lynne Gentry’s debut novel pulls you in from page one and never lets you come up for air as you follow Lisbeth Hastings into the turbulent world of third-century Carthage in a gripping tale of mercy, passion, sacrifice, and deceit.”

—Lisa Harris, author of
Dangerous Passage

“From a modern-day emergency room to third-century back alleys,
Healer of Carthage
pulls readers into a riveting story that will keep pulses racing and hearts twisting. Beautiful writing. Compelling story. Enough twists and turns to keep you on your toes every step of the way. Kudos to author Lynne Gentry for this remarkable, haunting storyline. Highly recommended!”

—Janice Thompson, author of
Queen of the Waves

“Extraordinary writing. Exceptional story. I’ve just discovered my new favorite author in Lynne Gentry. With an incredible, compelling new voice she weaves the past and present together in a fascinating tale that I couldn’t put down. I can’t wait to read more from her, and while I’m waiting, I think I’ll read
Healer of Carthage
again!”

—Elizabeth Goddard, Carol Award–winning author of
Treacherous Skies, Riptide
, and
Wilderness Peril

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For Megan, a healer of bodies

and

Eric, a healer of souls

1

Dallas, Texas

T
IME IS A COMMODITY
first-year residents can’t afford to waste, Dr. Hastings.” Nelda, the chunky ER charge nurse, held out two charts. “Which one do you want? The diabetic with a necrotic foot ulcer? Or the questionable TB hacking his lungs out?”

What Lisbeth wanted was a bite of the tuna sandwich she’d just purchased from a vending machine, ten minutes off her feet, and a chance to read the letter burning a hole in the pocket of her white coat. But if she had any hope of catching a break in the next fifteen hours, tonight was not the time to spout off to the snarling brick house who had the power to make a thirty-hour call seem like sixty.

Frigid temperatures, combined with the loneliness of the holidays, had driven the uninsured of every age, sex, nationality, and state of mental duress into the county hospital. Regurgitated Jack Daniels, exhaust fumes, and too many nights on the streets fouled the emergency room air. Vagrants slumped in the upholstered chairs or lay sprawled across every inch of shiny floor tiles. Bearded men and frazzled women scrapped for an inch of real estate and clamored for the attention of a doctor.

The desperate begged for someone like her.

Lisbeth’s eyes flitted from the stale sandwich she clutched to the occupied gurneys lining both sides of the hall. A grizzled man
wearing a filthy, oversize army jacket and combat boots without laces sat up, flashed a toothless grin, then coughed blood into a tissue.

So much for her appetite. Lisbeth slid her sandwich on top of the letter in her pocket.

“I haven’t got all night, Dr. Hastings.” Nelda waved a chart under Lisbeth’s nose. “Choose!”

Choices.
Decisions she’d made that she could never undo. When she chose to go into medicine, Papa said he could see how she might enjoy saving the living after spending her childhood watching him resurrect the dead. He’d been supportive of her choice, even tried to share all he remembered of her mother’s medical career: First-year medical residents lived in a constant state of sleep deprivation. Days off were rare. And scariest of all . . . what kept her awake at night even when she wasn’t on call, the possibility that she’d screw up and kill someone.

“Which one?” Nelda barked in the voice that had earned her the nickname of Nurse Ratched.

Something about the desperation oozing from the old man’s yellowed eyes pumped a new round of adrenaline into Lisbeth’s sagging system. She snatched the chart in Nelda’s left hand. “TB it is.”

Thirty minutes later Lisbeth exited the old man’s exam room fully aware that her lecture on the importance of taking the medication tablets regularly had fallen upon deaf ears. To rule out TB, she called medical service to admit him, then dropped the signed chart on the stack at the nurses’ station. Thankfully, there was no sign of Nelda. With any luck, she could disappear long enough to choke down her sandwich before Nurse Ratched cornered her again.

Strong arms circled Lisbeth from behind, and she jumped with a start. “Hey, beautiful.” A male voice whispered in her ear, “I need an examination.”

“Knock it off, Craig.” Lisbeth wiggled free before Nelda appeared and caught her making out with her fiancé, a handsome first-year surgery resident on an ER rotation. “Nurse Ratched has spies everywhere.”

“You speak Arabic, right?” Craig Sutton’s dark eyes were too darn dreamy for a surgeon. Every time he came around she melted like one of his many drooling fans.

“Yeah.” Her aptitude for languages had been a leg up when she interviewed for this residency, but whenever the attendings needed a translator stat, she felt it a curse. “So?”

“A triple gunshot just came in.” He cranked up the charm. “You know I want in on this surgery, love. But Nelda dumped an Arabic lady and her baby on me. Projectile vomiting.” Nose wrinkled, Craig thrust a triage chart into Lisbeth’s hands. “Women are better at this kid stuff than men.”

“What?”

He held up his hands to block the possibility of her slapping him, which she was seriously considering. “You know what I mean: more nurturing.”

“A baby?” Pediatrics wasn’t her specialty. In fact, she didn’t do kids. She liked the idea of them, even wanted a couple someday, but she’d been too busy climbing sand dunes and charting stars with Papa to develop her nurturing skills. What would her future husband think if she confessed babies made her squeamish?

Craig kissed her hard on the lips. “You’re an angel. No wonder I love you.” He spun on his heels and plowed through the congested hall. “Got her vitals, but no history,” he shouted over his shoulder.

“You owe me.” Lisbeth’s protest got lost in his hasty retreat. “A baby? What was I thinking?” She gave a quick tug to her sagging ponytail and stepped inside exam room 1.

An anxious woman dressed in a black silk
abaya
, a dark veil
covering all but her face, perched on the edge of a straight-backed chair. She rocked a crying infant wrapped neck to toe in a blanket. Inky ringlets capped the child’s scrunched features and stuck to its olive skin.

Shouting to be heard over the piercing wails, Lisbeth introduced herself in Arabic.

The mother’s almond eyes brightened. She obviously understood the Carthaginian dialect Lisbeth had chosen. “My Abra cannot keep anything down. Help, please.”

“How old is—” In midyawn, Lisbeth realized the action must have seemed rude, because the mother’s confidence level dropped dramatically. Lisbeth covered her mouth, applying extra pressure to her cheeks in the hopes of jump-starting blood flow to the few remaining brain cells she had left. “How old is your”—she glanced at the chart—“daughter, right?”

The woman nodded. “Eight months.”

Lisbeth skimmed the vitals recorded on the chart. Numbers and letters blurred together. She blinked in an effort to fight back the fog of exhaustion. Low-grade fever at 100.4 degrees F. Slightly tachycardic for an eight-month-old. Decent blood pressure and good O2 sats on room air.

“How long has she been vomiting?”

“Two days.” Worry weighted the mother’s voice.

Lisbeth set the chart on one end of the exam table. “May I take a look?”

Abra’s mother nodded consent, then carefully placed the screaming infant on the crinkly white paper. Keeping a firm grip on her child, she looked to Lisbeth, expecting a magical end to the little one’s suffering. Four years of med school had not prepared Lisbeth for the unspoken pressure patients and families heaped upon doctors to perform miracles.

Lisbeth fished a pair of glasses out of her pocket, hoping the
sturdy brown frames made her appear a little more experienced. “I’m not going to hurt her.”