Can a Girl Get a Drink (in 19th century America)?

by Patti Sherry-Crews

Could a woman on her own get a drink in a restaurant before the 20th century in America? Could she order a meal? Could two female friends meet up in a hotel to catch up over lunch? The answer is no, no, and no.

Restaurants were the purview of men. Lunch hour business meetings or stepping out for a quick meal when running home was inconvenient was part of a man’s world. A woman could go into a restaurant but only accompanied by a man who wanted to show her off.

It’s an interesting reflection on the mindset of men at the time that they thought women dining alone could invite unwelcome attention, be subject to unwholesome ogling, or heaven’s forbid, she might be a prostitute drumming up business.

Some hotels had what was called a Ladies’ Ordinary. A women-only room set aside in a restaurant or hotel for respectable ladies to dine.

But fear not! There was a fun place for ladies to meet up. Behold the Ice Cream Saloon! These havens of purity didn’t serve alcohol, knowing women abhor liquor (what!?). Ice cream saloons were placed near stores because after a hard day of shopping a group of ladies could relax with light fare. The fare being ice cream and oysters (who is thinking these things on behalf of 19th century women? Oh, yeah, 19th century men). 

The ice cream saloons were decorated to look like the parlors the women had in their homes (so as not to distress or confuse the ladies by placing them in unfamiliar settings, I suppose). Hence the later term ice cream parlors.

Ironically, these ice cream saloons did take on the unsavory reputation that excluding women from restaurants tried to avoid. Because the ice cream saloons were not restricted to ladies only, they became a handy place for unchaperoned young people to meet on the sly, or worse yet, a trysting spot for adulterous couples.

This changed in the early 20th century thanks to women activists, calling for other reforms, challenged the restaurants. This was at a time where women were joining the workforce and becoming more visible in society at large. And ultimately, the restaurant industry recognized it was profitable to them to serve women diners.

I like ice cream. I like oysters too, but I prefer to pair my oysters with a chilled bottle of Pinot Grigio while sitting at a sidewalk cafe. Or if I’m day-drinking, a Bloody Mary over an oyster bar brunch.

In my new release, His Unexpected Companion, my hero who is dining with an old friend first sets eyes the heroine. The girl only wants a decent meal and a drink before hitting the trail. Here's how she handles the situation:

“I don’t plan on being a bachelor forever, but when I meet the right girl, I’ll...” Henry’s eyes lit up and his jaw slackened like the incarnation of his every hope and dream had just stepped into the room wrapped in ribbon and carrying a birthday cake. Kit turned in his seat to see what had caused such a reaction. A vision. A woman with hair the color of mahogany piled in curls on top of her head and large eyes set in an intelligent face, where all features rested in perfect proportion. Her creamy skin had a hint of rose across the cheeks. Her dress was almost the same shade of brown as her hair, only iridescent, with a silver panel on the bodice filled with pink seed beads and narrow ribbons of light green and pink. She stood in the doorway, looking from side to side. “That’s her. That’s the woman I’m going to marry,” said Henry, his Adam’s apple rising and falling above his stiff collar. “Hang on, sport. She’s probably looking for her husband. A lady wouldn’t be here on her own.” Just then, a waiter approached the woman and said something in a low whisper. Kit turned back around. “Beautiful...” muttered Henry. The lady’s voice carried sure and clear across the room. “No, I will not sit in the lounge until my husband gets here. As I am not married, that wait could put me well beyond any dinner time in the foreseeable future.” Kit turned sideways and cocked an ear in the direction of this unseemly display. “Madame, I’m sorry we cannot serve unaccompanied ladies in the restaurant. Perhaps you’d like dinner sent up to your room?” said the waiter, still speaking in a quiet voice. “I don’t think I would like that. Do you know how long the evening can be when you’re trapped in a room? Hmmm? Thought not. No, I’m going to sit at a table right here.” The waiter bent and said something so low, Kit couldn’t hear him. Henry was staring, his face frozen. “I have one particular talent. Do you want to know what that is?” She continued to the waiter, her voice louder now. Kit and Henry exchanged wide-eyed looks. Faces turned as other diners honed in on the conversation taking place. And though he hadn’t been aware of it until it's deafening silence, the chatter of silverware on bone china ceased. The waiter must have asked her what her one talent was, because she answered with her voice very loud, now. “I can shout longer and louder than anyone else in my family. Came in handy when Ma wanted everyone called in from outdoors. Want to hear me? No? Thought not...” she leaned toward the man whispering in her ear. “Yes, get the manager, by all means. The service here is appalling.” Kit spun around again to get a glimpse of this trouble- making woman, who must surely be ashamed of herself. She stood tall and straight, her chin tilted upward. In the dim room, lit only by candles and gas lights on the walls, she shimmered from head to toe. The image of a rainbow trout of many hued scales stilled in a mountain stream came to his mind. Oh, he knew this was not the most romantic description, but seeing her now, he could almost smell the pine trees and hear the tinkling of water running down a brook. Wild, yet majestic. Holding its own against an opposing current. She looked at her audience with an unflinching countenance. The maître d’ made his way toward her, and all prepared for the next act in the drama. Henry leaned in. “Oh, here we go. It’s time someone put her in her place.” Though not his concern, Kit blushed with shame on behalf of the woman. Sometimes, a person could get them-selves into a situation that was hard to dig out of. He under- stood that. He wanted to look away, but he was riveted to the unfolding scene. The maître d’ tilted his head sideways as he quietly explained something to the woman. She sucked in her cheeks. “I see. Thank you for explaining why a woman traveling alone cannot sit down to a nice meal.” Her voice raised as if addressing the room. “However, though you haven’t exactly voiced this, what I infer from your explanation is you appear to take a dim view of your fellow beings. Either my presence is likely to result in the gentlemen here to behave in base ways—which I very much doubt, since as you say yourself this is a respectable establishment, not a saloon—or, I am here to procure more than a meal. Rest assured, I am not a prostitute.” The sound of cutlery hitting plates filled the room. Someone choked on their food. She met the flustered maître d’s eyes. “I have money of my own and intend to spend it lavishly in your establishment. Now, if you will kindly see me to a table... You may tuck me in a corner if that makes you feel better, and we shall see how well everyone behaves themselves.” He thought she was going to get shown the door for sure. But, instead, the maître d’ gave a slight bow from the waist and led the way to a table. When she passed their table, Henry ducked his head and put up a hand to shield his face, but Kit couldn’t look away. She turned her face to him as if deigning to acknowledge his presence. His mouth went dry and his chest expanded, holding a deep breath when their eyes met. She raised her eyebrows in surprise.

About the book:

Olivia Darling is her own woman—self-sufficient, intelligent, and wise to the ways of the world. She’s also beautiful enough to rile other women and garner unwanted attention from men, which could bring more danger down on her than living the outlaw life she’s taken to. Headed home to Colorado, she’s ready to put her past behind her—but what kind of reception will she get?

Kit Traver is headed home to Colorado, giving up his law practice back East to return to the place he loves—and the woman he intends to marry. His life neatly planned, this journey will give him the time he needs to be alone with nature before he takes on the responsibilities of practicing law again and being a married man. 

When Kit and Olivia meet in Denver, it’s not the best first impression—for either of them. But, they are traveling the same trail, so it’s only natural they ride along together. It’s obvious to Kit that Olivia needs his protection—if only from herself!

But traveling together ignites a fire between them that can’t be ignored, especially once they arrive, only to discover that everything has changed while they’ve been away. With her father mysteriously murdered, Olivia has her hands full trying to keep the big ranchers from pushing her off her family’s small spread. Can Olivia and Kit make a home together? Will Kit walk away from his socialite family for the love of HIS UNEXPECTED COMPANION?

 Available now

Sign on the Dotted Line...And Become the First Woman to...

by Heather Blanton

My character of Daisy in A Lady in Defiance is based on a real person. Mollie Kathleen Gortner was the first woman to file a gold claim in the state of Colorado. As is so common, most of the facts around Mollie have morphed into legend, but I was intrigued when I read her story. She had grit, determination, and, arguably, the favor of God. Remember, there is no such thing as luck.

Mollie came to Cripple Creek, CO in 1891 to visit her son. Gold had just been discovered at the settlement and Perry Gortner had been dispatched to do some surveying. Mollie worried about her son living and working in a boom town and decided to visit. Rumors have always swirled that Mollie spent some time working as a prostitute. That might explain her fear for her son’s safety in a wild-and-wooly mining town. Either way, her visit was fortuitous, to say the least.

She and her son decided to see some sights. They rode into a canyon to have lunch and watch a herd of elk. Mollie dismounted from her horse and took a seat on a rock for a better view. She noticed an interesting rock formation next to her and broke off a piece. Sure enough, there was gold in them thar hills. Snap. Just like that, she was a mine owner...well, not exactly.

Mollie and her son went to file a claim but the clerk balked at handing the paperwork to a woman. Before either man could say another word, an indignant and furious Mollie snatched up the forms and signed her name on the dotted line. Clearly, the clerk had a choice at that moment. Just how much trouble did he want? I can only imagine the look in Mollie's eyes. The clerk didn't have to imagine it. He had the feisty hell cat right in front of him and her glare backed him down. 

He pushed the paperwork through without another word. The Mollie Kathleen mine is in operation to this day.

It never ceases to amaze me what some of those hardy, 19th-century women accomplished. Simply by defying expectations, refusing to be a prisoner to their gender, pushing back when someone shoved, they left their mark on the Wild West. It's true what they say: well-behaved women rarely make history. 

Though she be but little, she is fierce--Shakespeare

I so love writing my stories around REAL women who lived in, settled, and survived the West. My newest release, Hell-Bent on Blessings, is a special treat. Or at least it was for me writing it.

Harriet Pullen--my heroine--ran a reasonably successful and highly respected horse ranch in Oregon in the early 1890s. She and her four children. Her husband didn't seem to do much other than drink and add debt to their accounts. Eventually, the debt outweighed the money coming in and Harriet's man conveniently disappeared. She was forced then to make a brutal choice: start-over in Oregon at grub wages or follow the gold rush to the Klondike alone.

She placed her children with one set of neighbors, her horses with another, watched the sheriff nail a foreclosure sign to her front door, and then she hopped a boat to Skagway. Standing on the shore there, newly arrived--literally--she was offered a job cooking for a man whose "chef" had just abandoned a crew of eighteen hungry men. Harriet rolled up her sleeves and jumped in.

Ferociously driven to get back in control of her finances and her life, she cooked all day and then baked mouthwatering pies all night and sold them by the dozens. Before long, she'd saved up enough money to send for her boys AND her horses. All that baking had given her time to formulate a business plan. Harriet was going to open her own shipping company--an unheard of goal for a woman, much less for one in the rugged Alaskan frontier.

And I'll leave it there. Here's a snippet from Hell-Bent on Blessings. Hope you enjoy getting a glimpse of what set Harriet's destiny in motion.

~~~

“Momma, the sheriff’s in the parlor.”

Something in her thirteen-year-old daughter’s voice sent a chill of foreboding up Harriet Pullen’s spine, but she didn’t stop her work. She slapped the whip on the ground and shook the lunge line. “Gidup, boy.” The bay gelding on the other end of the rope picked up his pace to a trot and circled around her in the corral. “Good boy. Good boy.” Over her shoulder to Katie, she said, “What’s he want?”

“I don’t know. We ran into him coming home from school and he rode on out with us. Just said he had to talk to you.”

Shoot. 

Harriet had much too much work to do to stop and fix another mess her worthless husband had caused. That was the only reason the sheriff ever came out here. 

She sighed and slapped the whip one last time. Ricco was a good horse. Harriet was pleased with him. Willing and strong, he had heart and he liked pleasing her. When his training was done, she would hate parting with him.

“Momma?”

Ignoring problems didn’t make them go away. Harriet lowered the whip and slowly pulled the horse around to face her, but she didn’t reel him in. “You got any homework, Katie?”

“Only a little.”

“All right, well…” She turned and walked the lunge line and the whip over to her daughter, who was draped over the corral fence. “Work Ricco here another fifteen minutes then put him up. Don’t forget his peppermint stick. And don’t get your dress dirty.”

“I won’t.” The girl took the tools from her mother, but held her gaze as their hands met. “Pa’s been gone a long time, you don’t think he’s—”

“I’m sure he’s fine.” The drunk’ll probably outlive me. “The sheriff just needs us to settle a debt for him or some such.”

The girl’s blue eyes cooled, and the crease in her brow said she wasn’t convinced, but she nodded. “All right. And I won’t forget the peppermint.”

* * *

Out of habit, Harriet grabbed an apron off the stove’s hook as she passed through the kitchen. Tying it behind her back, she marched into the parlor. Jason Meredith, Sundown’s unofficial sheriff—unofficial because the crossroads wasn’t incorporated—sat in her parlor tapping his fingertips together. A handsome man, he often wore a well-worn cowboy hat that he’d folded straight up in front, giving him an almost comic look. It sat beside him now on the settee.

Jason was certainly no man to laugh at, however. He was ridiculously tall—at least six foot six—sported a shock of hair blond as sunshine, and wielded a devastating, white, toothy smile that made most women swoon. 

Harriet was immune to his soul-searching blue eyes and strong, straight jaw, however. She was immune to men. Period. Henry had used up all her passion and kindness. 

“What’s he done now, Jason?” Not the politest way to start a conversation, but she was in no mood. Wrong. She was in a foul mood and didn’t feel like dallying with niceties.

He stood slowly, much like a behemoth rising to the sky, and offered her a sad, almost embarrassed smile. “Yeah, I’m here about him.”

She dropped her hands on her hips. “Do I need to bake something?” Her way of coping. It kept her from throwing things. 

“Might not be a bad idea.”

She stopped a worried flinch—barely—and motioned for him to follow her. “Come into the kitchen with me.” 

* * *

She poured a cup of coffee and handed it to him. “Sit down. I hate looking up at you. Makes my neck hurt.” He obliged, and she went to work gathering up ingredients around the kitchen for an apple pie. “Go ahead and spill it.” 

He glanced at the coffee. “Nah, I’d rather drink it.”

She hit him with a stink eye as she plucked four eggs from a bowl on the counter and set them next to a clay crock marked sugar. “You know what I mean.” She pulled a paring knife from the drawer, clutched another bowl to her side, this one full of apples, and joined him at the kitchen table.

He watched her hands warily as she set to peeling. “I’m not sure I want to talk to you with a knife in your hands.” 

Harriet didn’t look up from the apple she was peeling. “Jason, I’m tired—” Unexpectedly, a lump tried to constrict her throat. She was plain worn out. Henry took her and the children two steps forward and then three back, day in and day out, and had for years. Every time they got a little ahead, he somehow managed to foul up their plans. He’d gambled away their extra cash, practically given away a good horse she’d been training, gotten arrested for drunken behavior over and over, incurring fine after fine. The last time, she’d had to bake a dozen pies for the sheriff and judge over in Whitney to cover court costs. 

And this had been going on for sixteen years. She should be used to it by now, but she couldn’t forget all the love and promise Henry had once shown. The early years of their marriage had been filled with planting dreams and watching them blossom. Then Henry had fallen into the bottle. “I’m tired of the mystery. Just tell me,” she said flatly

Jason took a sip then set the cup down. “Henry’s dead.”

Harriet’s first thought was of the children. How would they take this? Surely they would be sad. He was their father. But he had never been a very good one, drunk more often than sober. The children were aware of the struggles the ranch endured because of his less-than-reliable behavior. So, they would be sad, yes. Devastated? She didn’t think so. She certainly wasn’t. She wondered what that said about the state of her conscience. Maybe she was just in shock. “How,” she heard herself ask.

“Near as anyone can tell, he drank himself to death. I guess he wandered down to the Willamette, a bottle in his hand. Just died, sitting there beside the water. But seeing as how he’d been there a while, there wasn’t much to—I mean, well, identifying him took a little work. This was the clue.” He pulled a gold wedding band from his breast pocket. “That is yours?”

Harriet took the ring and examined it. Engraved on the inside, it read, To my darling Harriet. Love, Henry. Yes, it was hers. She’d lost it a month ago, but suspected all along he’d taken it to pawn. 

“Are you aware he hasn’t paid the mortgage in six months?”

This news hit her harder than Henry’s death and froze her hands. 

Oh, Henry. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, despair and rising anger gripping her heart. She couldn’t do everything. She kept up with the ranch. She raised the children. Did the shopping. Did the cooking. Balanced their ledgers. The only thing Henry had to do was literally pay two bills—the feedstore and bank. 

Oh, Lord, please don’t tell me—

She looked up and saw the sympathy in Jason’s eyes. It made her feel ashamed, but not of her pragmatic thoughts. Of the man she’d married.  Of her poor choice. “I counted it out every month for him. Put it in an envelope. All he had to do was walk in and hand it to the clerk.”

“I guess…” He swiped a hand over his stubbly chin. “I guess he couldn’t pass up the saloons. O’Dell at the bank talked to him repeatedly about it, Harriet—”

“Why didn’t someone talk to me?”

“Because you’re—”

“A woman?” She spat out the word, sick to death of it being equated with weakness and stupidity. “But you’ll talk to me now?”

“Yes and no. I mean, you’re Henry’s wife but he’s legally in charge—”

She waved the knife at him. “Was legally in charge. You said he’s dead. Before that, I hadn’t seen him in almost a month. So I’m here to deal with things. How much does he owe the bank?”

“Well,” Jason rubbed his neck and a sinking feeling lapped over Harriet like a rising tide. “It’s more than the bank. He owes the feed store and a couple of merchants in town. I’ve been trying to put this off for you, Harriet, thinking he might come back—”

“How did you know he was gone?”

“When Henry Pullen misses more than three nights at Pauline’s Parlor, everybody in this valley knows. And nobody had seen him in a month. If you’d asked, I would have looked for him.”

“He came and went like he wanted. We never knew…we never knew when he was coming back.” Harriet set the apple and the knife down and pressed her fingertips to her forehead holding back a headache. “How much?”

“Unless you’ve got three thousand dollars, the bank is foreclosing in three days, and Bill at the feedstore is making a claim, too.” He flinched a little. “And the saloon.”

Come along for the ride as Harriet fights for her place in the wild, gold rush town of Blessings, California! Find out why I chose the Shakespeare quote, "Though she be but little, she is fierce," as my tagline! You can get your own copy here!

My New Release--A Romantic Suspense Western Coming January 25!

Locket Full of Love

by Heather Blanton

Was her husband a sinner or a saint? A spy or a traitor? For years Juliet Watts has believed her husband died saving nothing more than a cheap trinket--but the locket he risked his life for turns out to hold a mysterious key. Together, Juliet and military intelligence officer Robert Hall go on a journey of riddles and revelations. But Juliet is convinced Robert is hiding something, too. Maybe it's just his heart...

This was a fun story to write and the research was really interesting. I learned a lot about spying and intelligence departments during the Civil War. Oh, and the first part of the story is based on a TRUE Story. Next month I'll be back with details on some of my research!

I hope you'll check it out and the other books in the Lockets & Lace series. My book releases January 25, and if you pre-order (and let me know), I'll send you a loooooong sneak peek! 

The Woman with Steel Ribs to Match Her Steel Spine (or, You Don't Mess with a Girl's Corset)

By Heather Blanton

Doing research for a book (Hang Your Heart on Christmas), I came across an amazing story of a woman with a steel backbone ... and ribs to match! Fashion saved her life and I mean that in the most literal sense possible.

Juliet Constance Ewing was born in Ireland, date unknown. On September 17, 1839, she and her brother, William G. Ewing, entered Texas as immigrants. And it was women like her who gave the state its reputation.

Juliet had the misfortune to suffer firsthand Texas change in policy toward Indians. Under the earlier leadership of Sam Houston, the Republic had few problems with the tribes, as he understood and respected them. His successor, Mirabeau B. Lamar, did not. Nor did he care to.

He promised the extermination of the Comanches.

On July 18, 1840, Juliet married station manager Hugh Oren Watts. This same year, talks with the Comanches broke down and 35 braves were massacred by US troops. The tribe hit the warpath with a vengeance, pun intended. Shockingly brutal attacks ensued, ending with the "Great Comanche Raid" that Texans still talk about today.

Just like Sherman would march through Georgia decades later, the Comanche thundered across Texas, burning, scalping, raping, and pillaging. When they attacked the small community of Linnville, where Juliet and William resided, the town was completely unprepared. Panicked, running for their lives, the townsfolk made a bee line for the boats in the bay, thinking to float out of reach of the marauders.

Only, William suddenly realized he’d left behind a gold watch. And went back for it. Juliet followed him. I don’t know which of the two was dumber.

William was killed and scalped. Juliet was taken captive. The Comanche spent most of the day pillaging the community, setting ransacked buildings on fire, and,—no kidding—trying to figure out how to get Juliet out of her steel-boned corset.

Running out of time and exasperated by the infernal garment, the Indians tied the woman to a tree and shot an arrow into her breast. Only, the steel ribbing and thick material slowed the arrow enough so that it didn’t kill her. Merely lodged in her breast bone.

Hollywood wouldn’t even believe this, yet it is fact.

From his eye witness report, Private Robert Hall recalled, “A little further on I found Mrs. Watts. They had shot an arrow at her breast, but her steel corset saved her life. It [the arrow] had entered her body, but Isham Good and I fastened a big pocket knife on the arrow and pulled it out. She possessed great fortitude, for she never flinched, though we could hear the breastbone crack when the arrow came out.

Ooooouch.

Clearly, Juliet was one tough Texan. This should have been a big hint to her second husband.

She married Dr. James Stanton in 1842, but divorced him five years later, “the first divorce in the new state of Texas.” Oddly, the woman demanded nothing short of complete fidelity from her husband. He didn't see it her way and for the disagreement, got to hand over to her the hotel the couple had opened.

Juliet’s third, and, thankfully, final, husband was a Dr. Richard Fretwell. They were married until her death in 1878.

I’ve no doubt Juliet was buried wearing her corset. Steel ribs to match her steel spine.