Myth, Women and Texas

by Lyn Horner

Every region, every country, every civilization has its special brand of mythology. Today I'll share some thoughts on the subject from Texas women, taken from Quotable Texas Women compiled by Susie Kelly Flatau and Lou Halsell Rodenberger.



"The future is created by the stories we tell about who we are and where we are going." ~ Betty Sue Flowers

"As you move through life, you experience a unique journey filled with many paths -- paths of success and failure, of glory and despair, of luck and misfortune. You encounter friends and family, guides and nemeses. And all contribute to your unique myth. It is that myth which must be recorded -- one word at a time, one sentence at a time, one paragraph at a time." ~ Susie Kelly Flatau

"Our stories are important. By telling them, by telling our real, true woman's story, we will challenge and correct all the myths and made-up stories about women's lives." ~ Susan Wittig Albert

"Myths do not just emerge full-blown, like Athena from the head of Zeus. They're made up of bits and pieces of other myths -- and the Texas myth is made up of bits and pieces of the hero myth." ~ Betty Sue Flowers

"I began to understand that all Texas is an eternal synthesis of past and present, superimposed one upon the other. It produces a feeling of being in two places at once." ~ Mary Lasswell

"Myth has always been male. Forever, men have sat around and talked, and, yes, even gossiped. That's where mythology comes from." ~ Beverly Stoeltje

"It came home to me that each of us carries within him an imperishable core of regional memory." ~ Mary Lasswell

"Told long enough, or granted enough significance, stories became myth, and myth becomes the psyche of culture, the commonly held knowledge by which a culture defines and describes itself and its members." ~ Nancy Baker Jones

"Heroism exists only within a storytelling community. Without storytelling, heroism becomes a cultural impossibility." ~ Betty Sue Flowers

"The myth of Texas is undeniably masculine. Say 'Texas' and what comes to most people's minds is cowboys and Indians -- lusty trail drivers of the sort depicted by Larry McMurtry in his Pulitzer Prize winning novel Lonesome Dove -- brawny oil field workers yearning to 'bring in a big'un' -- football players giving their all for the glory of the team." ~ Suzanne Comer

"Few former farm people wax nostalgic about the old days. No one misses the near starvation, the shacks, the rags that sometimes passes for clothing." ~ Rebecca Sharpless



Every author who writes about the Old West, Texas in particular, enlarges the mythology of a time and place gone by. Our pioneer ancestors were just people like you and me, but in our mythology they have become heroes and heroines. And why not? They settled a wild land, conquering seemingly insurmountable obstacles, sometimes with brutal methods, always with hope for tomorrow. I wonder if future generations will see us in the same heroic light



 

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Handcarts to the Promised Land

The Mormon handcart pioneers were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints who migrated to Utah using handcarts to carry their belongings. The handcart journeys began in 1856 and continued until 1860.

From 1849 to 1855, about 16,000 European Latter-day Saints took ship to America, traveled by rail to points in Iowa and Nebraska, and on to Utah by wagon trains. Most of these emigrants paid their own way, but the Church established the Perpetual Emigration Fund to assist poor emigrants with expenses, which they were to repay over time. Contributions were also encouraged.

Photo from Library of Congress



However, when contributions and loan repayments dwindled after a poor harvest in 1855, LDS President Brigham Young decided to begin using handcarts to help the European Saints, who were mostly poor. Young also believed it would speed up their journey. Nearly 3,000 Mormon converts from the British Isles and Scandinavia trekked to Utah pulling and pushing their heavy carts.

The pioneers were outfitted with handcarts and supplies in Iowa City, Iowa, the western railroad terminus at that time. Designed by Brigham Young, the handcarts resembled large wheelbarrows, with two 5-foot high wheels and a single 4 ½-foot wide axle. They weighed 60 pounds. On each side of the bed were 7-foot long pull shafts, with a 3-foot crossbar at the front, allowing the carts to be pushed or pulled. Cargo was carried in a 3’ by 4’ box with 8 inch walls. The handcarts usually carried about 250 pounds of supplies and baggage, but could haul loads up to 500 pounds. Carts were built entirely of wood at first; later, metal parts strengthened them.



Mormon handcart train in Iowa, 1903 illustration; Wikipedia Commons

 

Handcart companies (think wagon train) were organized in units. Five persons were assigned per handcart, with each individual limited to 17 pounds of clothing and bedding. Each round tent, supported by a center pole, housed 20 people and was supervised by a tent captain. Five tents were supervised by the “captain of a hundred” (sub-captain). Provisions for each group of one hundred emigrants were carried in an ox-drawn wagon, and were distributed by the tent captains.

One journal keeper wrote this: ”People made fun of us as we walked, pulling our handcarts, but the weather was fine and the roads were excellent and although I was sick and we were very tired at night, still we thought it was a glorious way to go to Zion.” This immigrant was among the lucky.

There were ten handcart companies in all. Most reached Salt Lake City with relatively few deaths along the trail. However, two groups, the Willie and Martin companies (named for their leaders) began their journey too late in 1856. They should have started out in May or June, but didn’t leave their Iowa base until August. One church official berated those who wanted to wait until the following spring to leave. He promised they would not run into snow.

On the contrary, the immigrants faced brutal cold and were almost buried by snow in central Wyoming. The few wagons accompanying them couldn't handle the sick and feeble, so they were piled on top of their handcarts and pushed by exhausted family members. Others crawled on their hands and knees through the snow because their feet were frozen. On some nights, a dozen or more people died. A number of survivors lost limbs to frostbite.

 

Many deaths were due to starvation because organizers had underestimated the amount of food required for the trip. The head of one company ordered his followers to lighten their loads, dumping blankets and clothing that later might have saved their lives. He even ordered the abandoned articles burned to prevent their owners from returning to retrieve them.

A heroic rescue effort was mounted by the Mormon settlers in Utah, but more than 210 of the 980 pioneers in the Willie and Martin companies died. John Chislett, a survivor, wrote, "Many a father pulled his cart, with his little children on it, until the day preceding his death."

Less than 10 percent of the Latter-day Saints who migrated west from 1846 to 1868 made the journey west using handcarts, but those determined pioneers are revered by modern day LDS members. They symbolize the fervent faith and sacrifice of all who trudged west over plains and mountains to their promised land. They are honored in events such as Pioneer Day and Church pageants.

Sources:

Mormon handcart pioneers, Wikipedia - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mormon_handcart_pioneers

Denver Post article “Handcart Hypocrisy” - http://www.denverpost.com/ci_11198729

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Westward Ho! Quiz

by Lyn Horner

Howdy all you western romance lovers. Today I'm going to test your knowledge about overland travel across the plains and mountains in the wagon train era. First, here are a few facts about the covered wagons pioneers called home during their long journey.

 

The term "covered wagon" applies to any horse, mule or ox-drawn wagon. A Conestoga wagon was a specific type of heavy covered wagon used extensively during the late 18th and 19th centuries in the U.S. and Canada. It was large enough to transport loads up to 6 tons. It was long, big-wheeled and curved in a boat-shaped design, perhaps suggesting the name "Prairie Schooner."

 

Conestoga wagon Photo by Ad Meskens of painting by Newbold Hough Trotter (1827-1898)



However, the wagons used by most pioneers were smaller and lighter with straight lines. They were shaped like ordinary farm wagons fitted with covers, but were much stronger. About ten feet long, with two-foot high sides, the wagon had to be built of well-seasoned hardwood to withstand the trip's extremes of temperature and moisture, as well as rough terrain. Such a wagon could carry 2,000 to 2,500 pounds of goods. Emigrants were advised not overload their wagons to avoid wearing out and killing their draft animals. Those who didn't heed this advice often paid a heavy price.

 



Covered wagon at the High Desert Museum Outside Author: B.D.'s world from Monroe, Washington, United State

Covered wagon at the High Desert Museum Outside Author: B.D.'s world from Monroe, Washington, United State 

A tar bucket hung from the side of each wagon, and the slats were calked with tar for river crossings. Wagons were covered with double layers of linen, muslin or sailcloth, oiled to make them somewhat rainproof. Spare wagon tongues, spokes, axles and wheels were usually slung under the wagon bed. Grease buckets, water barrels and heavy rope were also essential items.

 

Quiz

 

Okay, are you ready? Lets see how much you know about wagon trains. (Answers are at the bottom, but no cheating!)

1.  In the spring of what year did the first large wagon train head west to Oregon?

 
2.   Approximately how long was the Oregon Trail?
 
3.   What river did wagon trains follow across Nebraska?

4.   On average, how long did it take a wagon train to reach Oregon or California?

5.   What did geography books call the Great Plains during the westward migration?

6.   Why did the westbound travelers call themselves emigrants?

7.   What were the two most common reasons for emigrants to head west?

8.   Why did most emigrants choose oxen to pull their wagons rather than mules or horses?

9.   What did women gather along the trail to burn when there was no wood?

10.  How did women bake bread and pies on the overland journey?

11.  How many pounds of flour were emigrants advised to take with them on the journey?

12.  How many pounds of bacon were they advised to take with them?

13.  Name some other staple foods they would have taken along.

14.  What is saleratus?

15.  How much did a covered wagon and team of oxen cost circa 1850?

 

 

Answers


 

1.    In 1843

2.    2,000 miles or more depending on the starting point
3.    The Platte River
4.    The average travel time was 4 months but could be 6 months or longer.
5.    The Great American Desert
6.    They were traveling into foreign territory.
7.    They were lured by the promise of free land in Oregon, and later by gold in California.
8.    Oxen were stronger and cheaper than mules or horses.
9.    Buffalo chips or cow chips
10.  In a Dutch oven
11.  200 pounds according to an emigrant guide published in 1845
12.  150 pounds
13.  Flour, hard tack or crackers, bacon, sugar, coffee and tea, beans, rice, dried fruit, salt, pepper
14.  A leavening agent made of potassium or sodium bicarbonate; a precursor to baking soda
15.  Around $400, equals close to $11,000 now

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Colors Bring the Old West to Life

Did you ever notice how color helps set the stage in a novel? It can be used not only to let readers “see” the picture an author creates with words, but can also convey a character’s emotions. Sharla Rae, a good friend of mine, posted an article about this topic on Writers in the Storm back in October 2013: http://writersinthestorm.wordpress.com/2013/10/23/writing-in-living-color-and-two-new-lists/

Sharla used an example from my novella White Witch to illustrate one of her points. The Devlin family flees the Great Chicago Fire:

Bright sheets of fire flapped in the air, frighteningly beautiful in hues of orange, gold and angry red. Flung out by the murderous blaze, burning debris scattered hither and yon, a threat Jessie constantly fought, using a blanket to smother cinders that fell on the wagon.

 Here are a few additional excerpts from my Texas Devlins series showing the use of color:

From Darlin’ Irish – Captain David Taylor's first sight of Jessie Devlin in the Omaha train station:

Finding a gap in the crowd, David caught sight of a red-faced young corporal. The trooper bobbed and weaved, arms raised to fend off blows being rained upon him by a woman in a brown poke bonnet. Her weapon was a heavy looking black reticule.

 

From Dashing Irish – At a Saturday night social, Lil Crawford’s impression of the man her parents have forced her to accept as her escort:

He was big, with strong, even features and shoulder-length blond hair. In his dark blue shirt with its fancy yellow piping, he was easy on the eyes. He was also vainer than a turkey cock.

Also from Dashing Irish – Tye Devlin’s impression as the northbound cattle drive he's with approaches Fort Worth:

Fort Worth rose against the warm, crystal-blue morning on a bluff overlooking the Trinity River.

From Dearest Irish – Rose Devlin finds Choctaw Jack working in the smithy:

. . . she recognized Choctaw Jack by his long, midnight black hair, tied back with a leather thong at his nape, and by the healed red scar across his left shoulder blade. . . .

Coated with sweat in the heat from the forge, his muscular arms and torso gleamed like molten copper.

  

Whether you're a reader or an author, try to notice how color enlivens stories . . . and our lives.

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Dashing Irish                          

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Darlin’ Irish

Dashing Irish

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Is Bigfoot alive and well in Texas?

by Lyn Horner

"Bigfoot" or "Sasquatch" is a legendary ape-like creature believed by some to exist in the Pacific Northwest. But did you know cryptozoologists are diligently searching for the same type of animal in the Lone Star State? Indian legend and modern day sightings indicate they may be on the right track.

I’ve been researching Caddo Lake in East Texas to use as a setting in my upcoming book (title still up in the air.) Lying half in Texas and half in Louisiana, Caddo Lake is named after the Caddoan Native American tribes who inhabited the area in days past. It’s the only natural lake in Texas and the largest one in the south, covering approximately 26,800 acres. And it may be an ideal habitat for Bigfoot.

Caddo Lake with Bald Cypress trees; photo by Jay Carriker (User:JCarriker); http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caddo_Lake

How the lake formed has been debated. One theory claims it was created by the New Madrid earthquakes of December 1811. Centered in northeast Arkansas, the quakes strongly shook an estimated 50,000 square miles.

An alternate theory suggests the lake was formed by the Great Red River Raft, a huge log jam that extended above and below present day Shreveport, LA. for some 160 miles. Having formed over several centuries, the raft completely blocked the river channel and caused massive flooding. However, tree rings and geologic evidence prove Caddo Lake even older than the raft.

Note: The Great Raft was cleared after the invention of nitroglycerin.

During the 1800s, Caddo Lake made Jefferson, Texas the state’s second largest port. Only Galveston shipped more goods and people to and from Texas in those days. Steamboats moved up the Mississippi River, into the Red River and on to Jefferson via Caddo Lake and Big Cypress Bayou. For four decades, large quantities of cotton and other materials were carried down this route to New Orleans.

Today, Caddo is a mysterious wonderland of lake and wetland, home to waterfowl, alligators, turtles, frogs, snakes, raccoons, minks, beavers, white-tailed deer and other mammals. Bald cypress trees draped with Spanish moss and aquatic plants thrive in the maze of sloughs, bayous, and ponds.

Photo in the Public Domain; Wikipedia Commons

The lake is also bordered by tall pine forests – the East Texas Piney Woods, nearly 12 million acres of forestland. What, you thought Texas was all prairie and longhorn cattle? Nope. We boast four national forests and five state forests in East Texas, spreading over forty-three counties. It’s this part of the state where most sightings of Bigfoot are reported.

The Texas Bigfoot Research Center, located in Jefferson, is a non-profit organization dedicated to proving the existence of the legendary creature in this region. The center has recorded several substantiated sightings of the hairy “ape-man” in the lake region, as well as hundreds of unofficial reports.

One such beast called the "Caddo Critter" is said to have inhabited the bottoms around Caddo Lake in the 1970's. Similar stories have come from the Sulphur River area along the Texas-Arkansas border for decades, and farther south, Sabine residents reported seeing a hairy gray ape-like animal in the area's dense forests in 2000. It was dubbed the "Sabine Thing."

Bobby Hamilton, founder of the Gulf Coast Bigfoot Research Organization (GCBRO), states, "I know it sounds crazy, but there are Bigfoot creatures right here in Texas. . . . I've been researching these creatures in the field for quite some time now. They're out there." Hamilton goes on to say, "We have recorded some noises we just can't place with known animals. Some of these sounds are pretty amazing, even frightening.”

Loren Coleman, co-author of A Field Guide to Bigfoot, Yeti and Other Mystery Primates Worldwide and viewed by many as the world's foremost cryptozoologist, asserts there are numerous historical references to apelike creatures in the South, both from Europeans and Native Americans. "The Louisiana Choctaw Indians had an animal they called the nalusa fayala, which means ‘long, evil being’," he said.

While no one has produced a clear photo of a Bigfoot, let alone an actual specimen here in Texas, the Caddo Lake region, with it’s dark forests and misty waters, surely offers a perfect hiding place for the shy, reclusive creatures. If they exist.

Now here’s a peek inside my “nameless” book. Hint: It begins in Ireland but shifts to Texas, and there’s a supernatural element. Oh, and it’s the first in a series.

Excerpt:

She gave him a funny look then turned to stare out her side window. “There’s a lake!” she suddenly exclaimed. “I can see it through the trees.”

Clearing his throat, he managed to speak in a normal voice. “Yeah. Guess I forgot to tell you the cabin backs up to Caddo Lake.”

“You certainly did.”

They rounded a gentle curve and he slowed to turn onto the winding drive leading to the cabin. When it appeared behind the screen of tall pines Lara gave an astonished cry, making Conn grin in satisfaction.

“That’s the cabin? It’s huge!” She gaped at the two-story log structure as he pulled up in front. The place was impressive with its wraparound porch, upper balcony and professionally landscaped grounds.

“I did tell you it belongs to the company I work for. The big bosses use it for meetings and to entertain clients, but they make it available for us roughnecks when there’s nothing going on out here. Lucky for you and me it’s empty for the next couple weeks.”

She scowled at him. “You’re a devil, Connor O’Shea! You deliberately didn’t tell me what to expect, admit it.” Her lips twitched, telling him her affronted act was all in fun.

He laughed and reached out to give her shiny dark braid a tug. “You’ve got me there, honey.” He didn’t intend to kiss her, but when her eyes widened and her rosy lips parted, he gave in to temptation. Her warm breath fanned his face as he bent close.

Sources:

http://texaslesstraveled.com/bigfootcountry.htm

http://www.anomalist.com/reports/lonestar.html

http://www.countylinemagazine.com/July-2012/Caddo-Lake-Caddo-Country/

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Divas in Pink Tights

by Lyn Horner

I’ve been reading The Gentle Tamers, Women of the Old Wild West by Dee Brown. It’s a marvelous testament to how women endured and flourished on the western frontier. Some of the accounts are grim, others inspiring, but one chapter is a bit lighter in tone. Titled “Pink Tights and Red Velvet Skirts,” it shines a spotlight on female entertainers who trod the boards in San Francisco, Virginia City, Denver and far flung mining camps.

The chapter opens with this quote from historian Hubert Howe Bancroft: “The mere appearance of a woman sufficed in early days to insure success.” Even if the performer was untrained, had a cracked voice and was far from beautiful, she could strut off the stage amid a shower of silver and gold.

During the decade between the first California gold strike and the Civil War, theaters flourished in San Francisco, but also in just about every mining town. They might be fancy playhouses or canvas tents. In a land where men far outnumbered women, it didn’t matter as long as a woman arrived to put on a show.

When an actress with real talent came along, she was idolized by her male audience. One such woman was Caroline Chapman. Born illegitimately into a famous theatrical family, Caroline performed with her father, William Chapman. After their first performance in San Francisco, the pair were showered with buckskin bags of gold dust. Dubbed “our Caroline” by her adoring audience, she drew mobs of followers. When she and her father arrived in Sonora to christen a new theater with She Stoops to Conquer, they were met and escorted by a thousand miners. The Chapmans would perform anywhere, even on the sawed off trunk of a huge tree in one case.

The most glamorous, seductive and scandalous western diva was Lola Montez. More akin to a burlesque queen than an actress, according to Dee Brown, she “. . . burst upon San Francisco like a bombshell, making excellent copy for the newspapers with stories of her many marriages and her claim that she was the illegitimate daughter of Lord Byron.” She dressed like Byron in black jackets with big rolling collars, and strolled the streets with two leashed greyhounds and a parrot on her shoulder. Lola’s sensational and shocking spider dance made her famous. She purposely spread stories of her sinfulness, tales that have perpetuated her legend in western lore down the years.

 

Petite, talented Lotta Crabtree took the stage as a shy little girl. A protégé of sorts of Lola Montez’s, she danced and sang her way through the mining camps with her mother and eventually landed on the San Francisco scene. She took the “West’s theatrical center” by storm. Headlines read: “Miss Lotta, the San Francisco Favorite,” “La Petite Lotta, the Celebrated Danseuse and Vocalist,” and “Miss Lotta the Unapproachable.” Brown attributes her lasting success to her innocence. She remained above scandal and suspicion, the perennial princess for thirty-five years, amassing a fortune, which her mother carefully hoarded. When Lotta died in 1924, she was worth over four million dollars. All of it went to charity since she never married and had no children. 

Dee Brown goes into much greater detail about performers and the history of theater in the West. And this is only one chapter in his amazing book.

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Log Cabin Village

I’ve been looking through a book I picked up for a dollar or two at a library book sale several years back. Titled Fort Worth’s Log Cabin Village, A History and Guide, it tells how the important historical attraction came into existence and catalogues the preserved structures from pioneer days in North Texas. Written by Terry G. Jordan, with assistance from others, the book was published by the Texas State Historical Association in 1980.

For a western author, this book is almost as valuable as the village itself. Maybe more, because it’s filled with photographs of the village and details of log cabin and log house construction. There’s a distinct difference between the two, by the way.

A log cabin or “pole shack” was a primitive log dwelling quickly put up by pioneers and often intended as temporary shelter. Small, without windows and with bare-earth floors, cabins were built of crudely notched logs, with bark left on, that projected at the corners of the structure. Chimneys were of “stick-and-dirt” construction. Walls rose just to the top of the door opening; the roof was laid with clapboards held down by heavy poles.

Pioneers often got together for log rollings and house raisings. The book quotes W. R. Strong, who came to North Texas in 1846. Mentioning several neighbors who helped him, Mr. Strong said, “My house was a log cabin fourteen feet square. . . . I put the logs up round when I built my house in the spring then in the fall I took a chopping ax and hewed the logs down smooth, then I cut chinkin, out of little poles mostly, and chinked the cracks and plastered them over with mud. I hewed out puncheons [split logs with one face smoothed] for the floor.”

Most log cabins served for only a few years before they were replaced by more permanent structures. A log house, by comparison, was built of squared timbers, carefully notched at the corners and sawn off flush, tightly chinked and with wooden floors. (Mr. Strong apparently worked hard to turn his cabin into a house.)

A log house might have one or two windows and a chimney built of stone or brick. It was generally larger than a cabin both in height and living space. According to my treasured library discard, log houses were usually built by carpenters who traveled from place to place, offering their skills for a price. Most were white, but some were black slaves hired out by their masters. Itinerant chimney masons followed the carpenters from site to site.

Fort Worth’s Log Cabin Village actually displays log houses rather than the humble log cabins, but it’s worth noting that the two types of dwelling both stem from earlier cultures that flowed westward, hand in hand, as the frontier expanded. In future posts, I hope to go into more detail about the building of log homes and furnishings.

If you’re interested in purchasing this valuable research book, it’s available on Amazon, both new and used. http://www.amazon.com/Log-Cabin-Village-History-Guide/dp/0876110456 

Now, it’s my pleasure to tell you Dearest Irish (Texas Devlins, Book III) has been nominated for a Rone Award in the American Historical category by InD’Tale Magazine. This comes on top of a nomination for a 2014 Reader’s Choice Award by BigAl’s Books and Pals. Voting for the Rone Award is open. http://www.indtale.com/2014-rone-awards

Write a Really Short Story by Lyn Horner

I’m a regular follower of the Western Romance Writers Please Post Here ( #2) thread on Amazon’s Meet Our Authors forum. Back in the late fall, a bunch of us on the thread agreed to publish a western romance anthology of short stories to be called Rawhide ‘n Roses.

I thought this project would be fun and probably wouldn’t take much time since our stories were to be in the 2,000 to 3,000 word range, really short. Right. The only problem was I’ve written only a couple other short stories – flash fiction actually – and they were more like parts of a bigger picture. How was I going to tell a complete story, much less a romance, in so few words? Most chapters in my novels are longer than three thousand words. What had I gotten myself into?

Well, I stewed about it for a couple weeks. (I’m good at stewing over things. It’s exhausting!) Finally, I resorted to my favorite trick for roughing out a scene: I grabbed a notebook, clipboard and pen and settled into a nice hot bath. No, I’m not kidding. The wet heat seems to open up the pathways in my brain. Or maybe it’s just that there’s nothing to distract me, a big plus since I’m easily distracted, especially now that my husband is retired and around the house most of the time. Not that I’m blaming him; it’s my own fault for being so eager to do anything but write. Know what I mean?

Anyway, when I retreated to the bathtub I had absolutely no story idea in mind, but the moment pen touched paper this guy jumped out of my head, insisting his story be told. What story, I asked? He promptly informed me he was a lawman, a marshal in a small Colorado town. Here’s part of the scene he dictated to me:

 

“Move aside,” Marshal Trace Balfour ordered, pushing through the noisy throng gathered in the street outside the Golden Slipper Saloon. Their shouts and laughter had drawn him from his office up the block. Among the crowd, he saw the local Methodist preacher, the undertaker and the owner of the mercantile across the dusty street. Several ranch hands, in town on their day off, made most of the racket.

Trace also noticed the schoolmarm, Matilda Schoenbrun. With her brown hair wound in a tight bun at her nape and wearing a drab calico gown of the same color, she brought to mind a brown jay such as he’d seen as a boy in south Texas. When she spotted him, she threw her shoulders back and narrowed her lips, looking down her bespectacled little nose, setting his teeth on edge.

“Marshal, please put a stop to this!” she demanded in a haughty voice.

“Ma’am, that’s what I aim to do.” Touching his hat to her, he shouldered aside a pair of cowboys whose laughter and catcalls almost drowned out the shrieks coming from a pair of females rolling in the dirt. Trace recognized them as saloon girls form the Golden Slipper. With red and purple skirts bunched around their knees, they fought viciously, scratching, biting and pulling each other’s hair.

He’d rather face a gang of bank robbers than deal with these snarling wildcats, he thought grimly.

How’s that for an opening scene? Does it grab you? It did me. But then what? Who was the lawman going to get romantic with, one of the feisty fillies rolling around in the dirt? I had doubts about that, and how on earth was he supposed to win the mystery woman’s heart is the space of five or six pages?

My logical plotter’s brain said no, no way. No can do. I’d need at least a hundred pages to get them cozy enough to hop in bed, wouldn’t I? My characters never engage in full blown love scenes until they’ve known each other a while. After that, well, let’s just say things get steamy. But not in 2,000 words, for gosh sakes!

Let me tell you, this short story business had me stumped. It required more stewing and several false starts before I figured out how to bring the marshal and his lady together.

Points to ponder when writing short stories:

• Settings must be bare-bones; no flowery descriptions.
• Forget deep character studies; there’s no room.
• Keep backstory to a minimum; if important, make it concise.
• Every word should move the story along; sentences are like paragraphs, paragraphs are like pages in a book.
• Actions speak louder than words. Show emotions through body language, facial expressions and dialogue. Don’t depend upon introspection; again, there’s no room.
• Save the best for last; a dramatic ending will stick in a reader’s mind.

Short stories are a whole different kettle of fish for an author who normally writes historical novels in the 100,000-word range. After this exercise I have newfound respect for short story writers.

Whew! Now let me share a more familiar subject, my Native American romance:

Dearest Irish

Set in1876, Dearest Irish stars Rose Devlin, the youngest of three psychic siblings who hide their rare talents for fear of persecution. Gifted with the ability to heal with her mind, Rose inadvertently reveals her secret to Choctaw Jack, a half-breed cowboy she finds fascinating but rather frightening.

Choctaw Jack straddles two worlds, dividing his loyalties between his mother’s people and the family of a friend who died in the Civil War. Like Rose, he keeps shocking secrets that could cost him his job, even his life. Yet, he will risk everything to save his dying mother, even if it means kidnapping Rose.

Excerpt:

Rose regained her senses slowly. Feeling herself rock to and fro, she groggily recognized the loping gait of a horse beneath her. But how could that be?

She forced her eyes open, taking in the starlit sky and the dark landscape passing by. Blinking at the sight, she realized she was seated crosswise on the horse – in a man’s lap. Just like that, the scene in her bedroom with Jack came back to her, and she knew whose chest she leaned upon and whose arm was locked around her.

Panicking, she cried out in fright. Pain lanced through her jaw, reminding her of the blow her teacher-turned-abductor had delivered just before she’d sunk into oblivion.

“Easy now,” the brute murmured. “You’re all right. Nobody’s gonna hurt you.”

She threw her head back to see his shadowed features. “I’m not all right, ye . . . ye kidnapper!” Cupping her painful jaw, she demanded, “Take me back this instant!”

“Can’t do that, Toppah.”

“But ye must! Tye and Lil will be looking for me.” Catching the odd word he’d spoken, she repeated it. “Toppah? What’s that?”

“It’s you. It means yellow-hair.”

“Oh. Well, don’t be calling me that again. Now turn this horse around and take me back,” she again demanded.

“Nope. We’re heading for the Nations. You might as well relax and enjoy the ride.”

“Enjoy the ride, is it? You’re daft!” She pushed at his steely arm and attempted to twist free, but, although his hold caused no pain, it was unbreakable. Feeling smothered and panicky, she shoved at his chest, managing to create a small space between them.

“Be still,” he ordered sharply. “Do you want to fall off and break your neck?”

Before she could reply, another man’s voice sounded nearby, speaking in an unfamiliar tongue. Unaware of his presence until that moment, Rose uttered a frightened cry and instinctively shrank against Jack. His arm tightened around her for a moment. He said something to the other man then spoke softly to her.

“Don’t be afraid, Poe-lah-yee. That’s only Tsoia. He is my friend, my blood brother. He won’t touch you as long as he thinks you’re mine.”

“Yours! I’m not yours!” she shrilled, once more stiffening against him.

“You might not want to let him know that.”

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CK9LGA2 (Kindle and paperback)

http://tinyurl.com/l64ctss (Nook)

Corsets, Society and Frontier Women

In the Victorian Era, during which most western historical romances are set, women were regarded as the weaker sex and corsets a necessity to protect their virtue and support their “fragile” bodies. Tight lacing indicated a virtuous woman, loose lacing a loose woman.

 

It didn’t seem to disturb men or even women that the devices made deep breathing impossible, caused fainting, led to lung infections, deformed internal organs and caused many miscarriages. Yes, maternity corsets were available but, rather than provide helpful support, they were designed to constrict the pregnancy. I hate to think what this did to the mother and baby.

 

Doctors were well aware of these ill effects. The following is from an article published in the British medical journal, The Lacet and reprinted in the The Time of London.

“Our old friend, tight-lacing, has again made his appearance. ... The folly is one which was formerly to be found mainly in the drawing-room, but now it also fills our streets. ... as medical practitioners, we see its effects every day in the train of nervous and dyspeptic symptoms … and in the still more grave internal mischief of permanent character which is often caused by it.”

Corsets also seriously restricted movement. After donning a chemise to protect the corset from body oil, it was advisable for a woman to put on her drawers, stockings, garters and shoes before being laced up because she wouldn’t be able to bend over afterward. How could a woman encased in layer upon layer of clothing, bone or metal stays, and laced up tight, ride a horse? Well, there were corsets designed especially for riding, cut higher over the hips to allow sitting in a saddle – a side saddle that is. Ladies did not ride astride, not by society standards.

In an article posted on http://lacingliaisons.wordpress.com/page/2/ the author states: “In the 19th century, officers in The Cavalry would wear corsets for back support while horseback riding. A well patterned and constructed steel boned corset can be a suitable replacement for a back brace (under advisement from your physician, of course). During a high impact activity such as horseback riding, extra support can be beneficial to the spine and also help prevent immediate and long term back pain.”

However, I’m pretty sure neither those society ladies nor the cavalry officers performed all the tasks required of a frontier wife and mother. Quoting an article about clothing on the American Frontier by Susan Jarrett, on her site History of Fashion and Dress:

 

“While there is evidence of high fashion entering the frontier, it can be surmised that for the average American settler of the early frontier, practicality and functionality mattered more than high style. A frontier family's day was filled with hard labor and long hours. For women, skirt lengths were shorter, necklines higher, and sleeves were close fitting. Both women and children wore large sunbonnets or woven hats to protect their skin from the sun. Aprons and smocks were worn to protect clothing from the laborious chores of frontier life.”

 

Nowhere does the author mention corsets, and although she was writing about an earlier period (1800-1840) it’s safe to assume the same applied to women on the advancing frontier through at least the 1880s, and probably longer. If a ranch wife needed to mount a horse and help her husband push cattle, which some did, she’d most likely put on a pair of boots, hike up her skirts and ride astride. As an alternative, she might sew a divided skirt or buy one readymade if available. Such a skirt wouldn’t be tailored. It would contain yards of cotton, wool, corduroy or possibly denim in later decades. It would be hot and heavy, but worn with a shirt and jacket, it had to provide more comfort than a tightly laced corset.

Now here’s an excerpt from Dearest Irish illustrating a shy young woman’s dilemma over what to wear for her riding lessons.

Jack insisted she learn to ride on a man’s saddle, saying it was more natural and safer. Tye grumbled but couldn’t say no since his wife pointed out she’d always ridden astride before growing heavy with child. Rose expressed no opinion in the matter until Lil casually mentioned she would need to wear a pair of men’s trousers for riding. Horrified at the thought, Rose stared at her wide-eyed from her chair at the kitchen table, where she sat peeling apples for a pie.

“What? No! I can’t,” she protested.

“Why not? I did,” Lil said, frowning from across the table as she shucked corn for dinner. Her mother stood between them, preparing dough for the pie.

“Ye did? But how could ye display yourself so . . .?” Rose bit back the word she’d been about to utter, not wishing to insult her sister-in-law, but it was too late.

Lil narrowed her eyes. “So brazenly? Is that what you were going to say?”

“I-I meant no offense,” Rose stammered, clutching a paring knife in one hand and a half peeled apple in the other. “But I’m not as b-brave as yourself. I simply can’t wear trousers.”

“Even if it means never riding your Brownie and knowing he’ll be shot?”

“Oh, please don’t say that!” Rose cried. Her eyes filled with tears. Dropping the knife, she clapped a hand over her trembling lips, fighting to hold back a flood of regret.

“There is another way,” Rebecca said. Wiping her hands on the long white apron draped over her dress, she glanced at Rose. “I could make a riding skirt for you.”

“You mean one of those split skirts like Jessie wears?” Lil asked dubiously. “I don’t know how she climbs aboard a horse with all that skirt dragging on her.”

“She manages.” Motioning Rose to her feet, Rebecca looked her up and down carefully. “You are about the same size as your sister. Perhaps she will let me use one of her skirts as a pattern.”

“I’m sure she would,” Rose said, a surge of hope helping to dry her eyes. Recalling the riding skirt she’d once seen on Jessie, she thought she could stand to wear such a garment. Certainly it was better than figure-hugging trousers. If it allowed her to ride Brownie, thereby saving his life, she would do it.

Word was sent to Jessie and she immediately supplied not only a skirt, but the paper pattern she’d used to make it. At Rebecca’s request, Tye escorted Rose and her into Clifton, the nearest town, where Lil’s mother chose a durable corded fabric suitable for their purposes. While there, Tye also outfitted Rose with a plaid work shirt, a pair of thick-heeled western boots, and a Stetson hat much like the one he wore.

Once back at the ranch, Rebecca wasted no time in cutting out the pieces for Rose’s skirt. With Lil pitching in to help, the three of them finished sewing it within two days.

On the morning her lessons were to commence with Jack, Rose hesitantly stepped out of the house wearing her blue plaid shirt and grayish blue riding skirt. She’d pinned her long hair into a tight knot at her nape beneath the brim of her brown hat. Walking cautiously in the unfamiliar boots, she tugged on a pair of leather gloves borrowed from her sister-in-law.

Lil had assured her she looked fine; Tye had merely raised an eyebrow and shrugged at her appearance. Still, when Rose spotted Jack standing by the corral, watching her approach, she blushed hotly, feeling self-conscious in her strange new clothes.

“Morning. You ready to learn?” he asked as she drew near.

“Aye, I’m ready.” Painfully aware of his gaze upon her and his imposing size, she studied the ground. Much to her relief, he made no comment about her changed attire.

Dearest Irish (Texas Devlins, Rose’s Story)

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CK9LGA2 (Kindle)

http://www.amazon.com/Dearest-Irish-Texas-Devlins-Volume/dp/1490384839  (paperback)

http://tinyurl.com/l64ctss (Nook)

Children’s Holiday Games of Long Ago

Holidays, especially Christmas, have always been most exciting for children. In the old days they didn’t have iPhones, iPads or any of the modern “toys” we provide to keep them busy while we cook Christmas dinner, set our tables and greet guests. Instead, they played games. Here are a few of their favorites.

A treat-filled paper bag is hung from from the ceiling or possibly a tree branch in warm climates. One child is blindfolded and spun around. Using a stick he or she is given several chances to hit the bag. Everyone takes turns until the bag breaks, spilling out its contents. The kids rush to snatch up as many treats as they can. Sounds like the piñata game, doesn’t it? Probably not a coincidence.

Kind of appropriate for romance authors! This game was popular at Valentine’s Day. A heart is attached (pinned, I imagine) to each child’s back with a name on it of one half of a famous couple. The players ask each other questions to learn their identity, such as “Am I a woman?” or “Am I alive now?” Once the player knows his or her name, they must find their partner in romance.

This game was often played at Christmas parties. A big, pretty spider (if a spider can be called pretty) made of wire and decorated, is hung from on high. Long strings or ribbons, one per player, were attached to the spider and wound around the room, under furniture, through doorways, maybe up and down stairs. They formed a complicated web. Each child chose one “thread” of the web and followed it to the end, where a Christmas gift waited.

There were also outdoor games, weather permitting. I describe one called Ring Taw in a short story titled A Texas Devlins Christmas, posted on Alison Bruce’s site today. I hope you’ll join the Devlins’ Christmas gathering. http://alisonebruce.blogspot.com/ 

 

Now here’s a snippet from my short story, Christmas Cookies for Tristan

Blurb:

Tristan Jameson isn't happy to attend a stuffy New York Christmas party, but when Charlotte Dixon walks in, the evening promises excitement. A tin of homemade Christmas cookies helps bring the two of them together. Recipe included!

Excerpt:

Tristan tensed when he saw a striking auburn-haired woman hand her coat to a butler in the penthouse foyer and walk into the crowded living room. He’d never met her, he was certain, yet he felt instantly drawn to her. Despite his avoidance of female companionship over the past two years, his pulse quickened and the chatter of partygoers faded away as he watched her.

She wore a cranberry red dress with tiny cap sleeves that went surprisingly well with her mahogany hair. Smiling brightly, she exchanged air kisses with Johanna Cantrell, their hostess and Tristan’s distant cousin, who had opened up her lavish Park Avenue suite for this early Christmas party. So gracious of her, everyone agreed. Of course they all knew tonight’s party was aimed at garnering backers for the lady’s upcoming mayoral campaign.

The redhead had arrived unescorted. Was she a personal friend of Johanna’s or some high-placed business executive who might be convinced to throw her support behind the candidate? Tristan doubted it was the latter. She didn’t look old enough to fill such a role.

Curious to discover her identity, he edged his way through the crowd and followed the woman down a hall toward the kitchen, admiring the slender curves revealed by her subtly flowing skirt. Members of the catering staff buzzed past like worker bees, carrying empty food trays to be refilled and filled ones back out to the buffet table in the spacious living room, or salon as Cousin Johanna called it.

Pausing in the kitchen’s open doorway, Tristan leaned against the door jam and observed the redhead as she held out a large Christmas tin to a portly, bearded man in a white chef’s uniform. 

“Please arrange these cookies on a tray and set them out with the other desserts,” she said in a low, smoky voice reminiscent of actress Kathleen Turner’s.

The man scowled. “Madame, I personally prepare all food for every event I cater, including the desserts.”

“Oh, but I baked these especially for tonight as a gift for Jo . . . I mean Mrs. Cantrell. She told me to bring them back here for you to serve.”

“I doubt that, young woman,” the pompous ass sneered. “That good woman knows I never allow anything prepared by another hand to be served at one of my events.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” The redhead’s voice shook slightly, either with distress or anger.

Read more: http://www.amazon.com/Christmas-Cookies-Tristan-Lyn-Horner-ebook/dp/B00GHP4PXU

Source: Games from long ago (Historic Communities) by Bobbie Kalman http://www.amazon.com/Games-Long-Ago-Historic-Communities/dp/0865055211/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1386374486&sr=1-1&keywords=games+from+long+ago