About Dona Nobis Pacem
Written by Willa Okati
102 pages / 36000 words
ISBN: 978-1-60370-789-3, 1-60370-789-1
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc, epub, Sony-optimized pdf
Mute saloonkeeper Donnell knows all about prejudice; he’s had to battle it all of his life. He also knows how self-righteous and judgemental the people of the old west town of Nazareth can be, so he isn’t surprised when he sees them spurn requests for work from a man who walks into town looking to be all but on his death bed. Donnell takes the man in and nurses him back to health, falling in love along the way. But is Donnell destined to have his heart broken?
Review
Mychael Black, co-author of The Prince's Angel, writes:
Donnell is a saloon owner in the old west town of Nazareth. The son of a prostitute, he’s used to people thinking very little of him, and his muteness only serves to make them think he’s equally simple. Donnell, however, has made it his mission to prove them all wrong. His saloon is one of the best in town, and his inability to speak is a non-issue because he’s able to use his own form of sign language.
When a mysterious young man named Nathan wanders into town, starving, near death, Donnell takes him in, nursing Nathan back to health and losing his heart along the way. But Nathan’s past is never very far and his inner demons are constantly battering at him. Can he and Donnell make something together? Or will Nathan crumble beneath the weight of his supposed ‘sins’?
Dona Nobis Pacem is, by far, my all-time favorite story by Willa Okati. Set in the Old West in the late 19th century, it’s a story of redemption and love overcoming even the most engrained harsh lessons.
Donnell is a gentleman and a sweetheart, but he isn’t above fighting for what he believes in, which only makes him that much more endearing. Nathan is a bit innocent, given his background, but he learns quickly and it’s wonderful to watch him become his own man with Donnell’s love and support.
If you enjoy stories set in this era, then I highly recommend Dona Nobis Pacem.
Sample
In a fit of optimism, some enterprising settler twenty-odd years ago had named this patch of land "Shady Grove". The name hadn't stuck longer than the first summer, arid heat scorching the life out of anything green the daft fellow had tried to plant and carrying away his wife and children.
After that, or so the story went, the settler had cursed his homestead with the new name of "Hell".
When gold was found not far West in a puny stream, the name changed yet again to "El Dorado", though that lasted no longer than the rush of miners who picked, panned and mined away most of the precious metal.
When the gold was mostly gone and civilization caught up with the roughneck men who'd blazed through in search of riches, there came bankers, lawyers and doctors, along with their pretty wives and dainty daughters.
Amongst themselves, they'd formed a quaint city council, elected a mayor and a nominated a marshal, and rechristened this hole in the ground as "Nazareth”.
Those whose tongues weren't corseted by the niceties observed in polite society still called the former boomtown "Hell".
As for Donnell, he called it home, and had since the day he was born, a silent infant who opened his mouth to wail, but made no sound, not then and not ever afterwards. He'd never spoken a word nor even so much as been able to coax a noise from his throat, though his hearing was top-notch quality.
Donnell chose to speak through music instead. Music was his voice, tickled out through the ivories of the old upright piano he'd paid a considerable sum in gold dust to have shipped from Chicago. Within the safe haven of Treighton's saloon, Donnell had set himself up to have a fine view of Main Street through the mosquito netting tacked to their window frames while he played.
He could arrange Treighton's however he wanted, no questions asked. Owner's rules and that owner would be him.
Music wasn’t his only skill. He was a favored son of Lady Luck, and the cards danced to his tune. Those who thought a mute man was simple and an easy cheat at faro often found themselves losing big.
He’d given up the game after winning Treighton’s, though. No sense in pushing his luck too far.
A man who’d call himself satisfied with his lot in life, Donnell caressed the piano keys, Chopin flowing smooth and sweet as Kentucky bourbon under his mastery of the music. He let the corner of his mouth quirk upward with dry humor. Many were they who'd claimed the son of a whore, muteness aside, would never make anything of his life. They'd been wrong, too.
Did they accept his good fortune with grace? Hell, no. The "proper" folks of Nazareth scorned him still, and always would. Too good for the likes of him and his saloon.
Thank God for sinners, eh?