18th Century History

The Legend of Nancy Hart by Jo-Ann Roberts

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“Women are like teabags. We don’t know our true strength until we are in hot water.”  

Eleanor Roosevelt

If you’ve read any of my blogs here on P&P, you’ll recall I’ve often gone down the rabbit hole while researching my books. Which is exactly what happened a few weeks ago while I was researching information for an upcoming Civil War romance set to release in 2026, and came across a book, “The Cotillion Brigade” by Glen Carey.

Based on the true story of the celebrated Nancy Hart Rifles, “The Cotillion Brigade” is an inspiring story of the Civil War’s ravages on family and love, the resilient bonds of sisterhood amid devastation, and the miracle of reconciliation between bitter enemies. Twenty-one-year-old year-old Nannie Colquitt Hill and her “Fighting Nancies” stand between their beloved homes and the Yankee torches.  The all-female unit was composed of wives and daughters of Confederate soldiers.

While this book caught my interest, it was the mention of the Nancy Hart rifles that sent me tumbling down that tangled web. So, in honor of Women’s History Month here is the legend of Nancy Hart…

Nancy was born Ann Morgan in 1747. According to contemporary accounts, “Aunt Nancy,” as she was often called, was a tall, gangly woman who towered six feet in height. Like the frontier she inhabited, she was rough-hewn and rawboned, with red hair and a smallpox-scarred face. She was also cross-eyed. One early account pointed out that Hart had “no share of beauty—a fact she herself would have readily acknowledged, had she ever enjoyed an opportunity of looking into a mirror.”

Hart’s physical appearance was matched by a feisty personal demeanor characterized by a hotheaded temper, a fearless spirit, and a penchant for exacting vengeance upon those who offended her or harmed her family and friends. Members of the Cherokee Indian tribe soon began to refer to her as “Wahatche,” which may have meant “war woman.” She was also a domineering wife. Many remembered that she, rather than her husband, ran the Hart household, which eventually included six sons and two daughters. Although she was illiterate, Hart was amply blessed with the skills and knowledge necessary for frontier survival; she was an expert herbalist, a skilled hunter, and despite her crossed eyes, an excellent shot.

Nancy was known for being a devoted Patriot, who strongly disliked the British and their cause. She dedicated most of her life to fighting against it. She also fought British and Loyalist soldiers on her own property in the Georgia backcountry on multiple occasions. In one such instance, Nancy was making lye soap, and the liquid was extremely hot. Her daughter noticed a pair of eyes peeking through the wall of their log cabin. She alerted her mother, and Nancy stopped to throw a ladle of steaming soap mixture right into the eyes of the British soldier. She tended the soldier’s wounds before surrendering him to the Patriots.

Perhaps the most famous legend states that British soldiers entered the Hart property looking for a local patriot leader they had been pursuing. When they knocked on the door, Nancy refused to give them any information. Convinced she was lying, the soldiers slaughtered the last turkey on the property, barged into her house, and demanded Nancy cook it for them.

As the soldiers made themselves comfortable, Nancy served them plenty of her corn liquor, getting them drunk enough that they would not notice her sneaking their weapons outside the house each time she walked by them. Then, her daughter snuck outside and used a conch shell to alert the neighbors that they needed assistance.

When the soldiers caught on to what Nancy was doing with their muskets and threatened her, she turned the weapon on them. The soldiers ignored her warning, so she shot and killed the first to approach her. Nancy and her daughter held the remaining at gunpoint until the neighbors arrived. The rest of the soldiers were hanged on a nearby tree.

While this story is steeped in legend, it was given credence in 1912 by the discovery of six bodies on the Hart property. It was said that the skeletal remains were buried three feet underground and had been there for at least a century.

In 1853, the state of Georgia formed a new county from parts of Franklin and Elbert counties and named it Hart County after Nancy Hart. She is the only woman with a county named after her in Georgia. Near the city of Hartwell, G.A., the U.S. government dedicated a monument to her that says, “To commemorate the heroism of Nancy Hart.” In 1932, the Daughters of the American Revolution (DAR), with the help of the Civilian Conservation Corps, rebuilt Nancy’s cabin. The DAR gave the cabin to the state of Georgia, and the area, about 14 acres, was turned into a state park.

My May 30th Release!

An outlaw looking for a fresh start. A schoolteacher who might hold the key to the entire town’s salvation.

Ash “Shotgun” McCrae can never make up for all the wrong he’s done. After leaving a notorious outlaw gang, he thought he’d discovered the peaceful existence he’d been looking for when he found work laying tracks for the railroad in Rivers Bend. Yet, when trouble shows up in town, he fears he may never free himself from the burden of his past.

Schoolteacher Kate Cummings stands as the one bright light in contrast to the curious looks and behind-the-glove whispers blowing through the town. The arrival of Padraic “Patch” Rooney and his gang challenges the small-town serenity she holds dear. Still, her steadfast trust in Ash awakens the strength of courage within them all, giving rise to the collective defiance against the approaching danger.

In a deadly game of dangerous outlaws and secret schemes, Kate and Ash must decide whether they are willing to risk everything for their love, including their lives.

 Pre-Order Link

 

 

 

 

What’s A Little Pillow Talk?

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Hi everyone, are you a picky pillow person? Ha, say that fast three times! Do you have a Mr. Pillow? I’m kinda picky and like the flatter kind, but not filled with feathers. Nope. And not one that makes a noise in my ear when I move. Good heavens! Some sell for enormous sums. I bought mine at Walmart about ten years ago and it’s beginning to go really flat but I hesitate buying a new one.

Remember how all the pillows were overstuffed and we got cricks in our necks sleeping on them until we mashed them down? Glad they aren’t that way anymore.

But choosing one now days is quite a chore. They come in every type from soft to very firm. The value of the global pillow market in sales is 17.6 billion.

I think pillows have been a problem since the beginning of time. Cowboys use their saddles and that can’t be very comfortable but it beats a rock. Did you know the first pillows were in fact curved stone bolsters that elevated your head? Those were used in Mesopotamia about 7,000 BC. Five thousand years later, the Egyptians improved on that with a flat rectangular base with a straight shaft and curved neckpiece. It was supposed to mimic the rising sun. But oh my poor aching neck! The Pharoah Tutankhamun had no fewer than 8 of these in his tomb. These pillows were thought to dispel demons and they believed they could banish evil from the dark night in both life and death. No thank you! You’d have a crick deluxe that you’d never get out. I wonder if they had chiropractors?

Compliments of the Glencairn’s Egyptian Museum
Courtesy of the British Museum

Actually, the Romans were the first to stuff a sack with reeds and straw. The wealthy used feathers. Now you’re talking.

So we’ve come a long way. The first International Pillow Fight Day was held in 2008 and is celebrated every year since on the first Saturday in April. We just missed it! 

I’m giving away a $15 Amazon gift card to a commenter who tells me what kind of pillow they use.

Johnny Appleseed – The Man Who Planted America

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Hello, Winnie Griggs here. Today is National Johnny Appleseed Day and it just so happens that the current book I’m working on takes place in and around an apple orchard, so I thought doing a little research into the man of the hour might be fun. Here is a little of what I learned:

Few figures from American folklore are as beloved and iconic as Johnny Appleseed. Born John Chapman on September 26, 1774, in Leominister, Massachusetts, he became an emblem of the American frontier spirit, a nurseryman who introduced apple trees to large parts of Ohio, Indiana, and Pennsylvania. His story is a fascinating blend of fact and myth, illustrating how one man’s simple mission can grow into legend.

John Chapman, later known as Johnny Appleseed, embarked on a journey that would engrave his name in the heart of American history. The seeds of his mission (pun intended 🙂 )  were planted early in his life, shaped by a blend of frontier hardship and a personal calling. Moving westward with his brother, Chapman’s venture into apple planting wasn’t just for profit but was also driven by a spiritual mission believed to be influenced by his adherence to the Swedenborgian Church. This church preached the harmonious coexistence with nature, a principle that Chapman took to heart.

With a sack of apple seeds on his back, Chapman set off into the American wilderness, planting nurseries from Pennsylvania through Ohio to Indiana. His method was unique; he would create a small nursery, fence it off with fallen timber to protect it from animals, and leave it in the care of a local settler, whom he’d instruct in its care, promising to return every year or two to tend to it. This approach not only spread apple orchards across America but also established a network of nurseries that would bear fruits for many years to come.

The image of Johnny Appleseed wandering barefoot, with a tin pot hat, and a sack of seeds, has been etched into the American consciousness. While the tin pot is likely a myth, the essence of his simplicity and his kindness towards humans and animals alike is well documented. Unlike the folklore that paints him solely as a wandering planter, Chapman was also a savvy businessman, understanding the importance of land rights and the value of his nurseries.

Johnny Appleseed’s contribution to American agriculture cannot be overstated. By the time of his death in 1845, he had introduced apple orchards to a significant part of the American Midwest, laying the groundwork for a thriving apple industry. His work ensured that settlers had access to apple trees for food, cider, and community building. Beyond agriculture, his efforts were a testament to the power of one individual’s impact on the environment and economy.

Today, Johnny Appleseed’s legacy is celebrated in festivals, parks, and statues across the country. In fact, Johnny Appleseed Day is celebrated on two days each year, March 11, the anniversary of his passing and Sept. 26 his birthday.  He is remembered not just for his contribution to agriculture but as a symbol of generosity, environmental stewardship, and the pioneering spirit. His life story encourages us to live in harmony with nature and reminds us of the impact one person can have on the world.

 

Here are a few bits of trivia and fun facts about John Chapman/Johnny Appleseed

  • He planted his first apple nursery on the bank of Brokenstraw Creek, south of Warren, Pennsylvania.
  • He was against grafting and insisted that apple trees grow naturally.
  • He was reputed to have a remarkable ability to calm agitated horses.
  • The rather small, tart apples that came from the trees Chapman usually planted were not intended for eating. Instead they were used to make hard cider and a kind of brandy called applejack. As these were two of the primary alcoholic beverages of the day it was a more profitable crop than eating apple varieties.
  • In addition to apple trees Chapman also planted medicinal plants which he sometimes shared with Native Americans. In fact the local Indians welcomed him wherever he traveled.
  • Nathaniel Chapman, John’s father, fought in the Revolutionary War. One of the battles he took part in was the Battle of Bunker Hill. Nathaniel was a skilled carpenter and he was often sent behind the lines to fix wagons and help construct forts.
  • The seeds he used for planting his trees came from the cider mills who gave them to him for free. The mills considered them a disposable by-product.
  • During his lifetime, John walked an impressive distance – more than 4000 miles. He actually planted apple orchards in Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, West Virginia, and Ontario, Canada.
  • He died in Fort Wayne, Indiana, and there is an official gravesite marker for him in the Johnny Appleseed Park there. However there is some dispute over whether he is really buried there. Some say he was buried in an unmarked spot beside a nearby river but with an unknown specific location. Still others claim he is buried in the family cemetery, again in an unmarked grave but this time the location was confirmed by witnesses to his funeral.
  • Despite his legendary status, Johnny Appleseed lived a life of modesty and simplicity, embodying the virtues he preached.
  • During Prohibition the FBI tore down many of the orchards he planted as part of their efforts to prevent the making of illegal homemade hard cider. But you can still find one of his trees in the town of Nova, Ohio. It’s more than 175 years old and still produces tart apples that are ideal for baking, applesauce, and hard cider

Johnny Appleseed’s tale is more than just a chapter in American folklore; it’s a story that embodies the spirit of adventure, philanthropy, and pioneering that is central to the American spirit. Johnny Appleseed’s legacy stands as a beacon of simplicity and kindness, inspiring generations to plant seeds of their own, both literal and metaphorical, for a better future.

So did you learn anything new today-I certainly did and some of those tidbits may find their way into the book I’m writing 🙂
Was there something in the post that really surprised you?
Leave a comment about anything apple related to get your name in a hat to win your choice of any book from my backlist.

Rocking Chair Trivia Quiz!

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I’ve been having a lot of fun researching my new series, The Rocking Chair Ranch. For no reason in particular, this got me to thinking about the history of rocking chairs. I mean, did they start with mothers wanting a way to soothe their fussy babies to sleep or elderly people who sought to relieve their weary bones? Whichever, rocking chairs have long provided natural relief for life’s little discomforts.

So, just for fun, I put together a short trivia quiz about rocking chairs. Let’s see how many of them you get right. Answers are at the bottom.

  1. When was the first rocking chair invented and where?
  2. Which came first, rocking chairs, rocking horses, or cradles?
  3. Which president had an affinity for rocking chairs (due to a back problem) and owned 14.
  4. Rocking chairs were originally designed as outdoor furniture – true or false?
  5. According to Irish legend, what does an empty rocking chair mean?
  6. Where is the world’s largest rocking chair?
  7. What does the saying ‘off your rocker’ mean?

  1. In 1725, some ingenious person decided to fasten skates to the bottom of an English Yorkshire Windsor chair. It might have looked a little like this chair. Maybe. That person was from North American, so the rocking chair is truly an American invention.

                             

  1. Rocking horses (early 1600s) and cradles (late 1400s) were around long before the rocking chair.

  1. John F. Kennedy. His doctor recommended rocking chairs for is back woes.

  1. True – rocking chairs were invented for the outdoors first.

  1. It’s an invitation for evil spirits — which explains why my mom always put decorative pillows on the seat of our rocking chair.

  1. Casey, Illinois. The chair weighs 46,000 pounds and is made of recycled wood and pipe. That is one big chair.

  1. A little crazy, possible because old people who can suffer from senility often rock in their chairs.

I hope you had a good time today. I learned a lot more about rocking chairs that I put in this post. Hopefully, I’ll find a place for some of it in one of my stories. Thanks for joining me and, in closing, here’s a rocking chair quote from Theodore Roosevelt:

“There are rainy days in autumn and stormy days in winter when the rocking chair in front of the fire simply demands an accompanying book.”

I Arrive Precisely When I Intend To

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I’d bet you never thought you’d see a quote from Lord of the Rings on the P&P, but I promise it will make sense in a moment.

The full quote is: “A wizard is never late, Frodo Baggins. Nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to.”

-J. R. R. Tolkien

But why would this quote matter to a bunch of western aficionados? Well, other than that it’s actually a wonderful story, it’s the first thing I think of when I think of time. Gandolf may never have used a watch, but I can practically see him pointing to his wrist and smirking at Frodo as he makes his humorous quip. Or, maybe my imagination just gets the better of me sometimes.

I got to thinking about time pieces (and how fast time flies) when walking with my youngest son down our long driveway a week ago. We were talking about his affection for watches and how he needed a new band, then he asked me a question, one that sent me down a rabbit hole or two.

“Mom, why do they call watches, watches and why is it different from clocks?”

The answer may seem obvious. I mean, it would make sense that there should be a different name for a clock you wear and one that sits there, right?  Well, yes and no. Here’s where the word nerd in me gets giddy (I’ve always loved vocabulary). The word clock (older than watch) is derived from the word cloche, meaning bell in French. It is meant to be large, public, and above all, it’s supposed to make noise denoting the passage of seconds, minutes, and especially hours. A watch is meant to be personal, i.e. watched. Interesting, huh?

But all of that is from the 1500’s which is great, but not ‘western’ history, right?

And we’re all about the western history here.

Interestingly, as I was researching the why and how of clocks/watches, I found that they were much the same from the 1500s up until the mid 1800s when they became vastly more precise.

Can you guess why?

The answer is, the railroad. The railroad was, above all, a money making venture and they needed to have precise timing for trains to leave and arrive because the next train’s arrival was dependent on those before it being on time. A late train was a danger to other trains.

So, the time piece that was already incredibly accurate considering the age of the technology, became so metered, examined, and parsed as to be considered “perfect”.

While the very first clocks were created for religious reasons to keep track of prayer times, standardization came with the railroad. Small, portable watches became commonplace around the time of the industrial revolution, when the railroad was in its hay day. Interesting that the watch (whether it is a pocket watch, a chain necklace, a pin on a coat, or later in the 18C on a leather band, watches are in almost every western I read. And now you know why.

I have a collection I just released. The whole series revolves around the town of Redemption Bluff and the outlaws who find their way there looking for a fresh start. From the beginning, the townspeople want the railroad to come through so the town doesn’t dry up like so many other little towns.

I’ll offer a free ebook copy of The Redemption Bluff Collection to one commenter below.

Have you ever had a favorite watch? I still have mine although I haven’t worn it in many years. One of the very first gifts my husband gave me (before he was my husband) was a delicate Black Hills Gold watch.

Left Foot, Right Foot

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Do you remember what it was like to put your foot into the wrong shoe? Young children do this all the time. I still remember how uncomfortable it felt.

Children don’t pay a lot of attention to that and mostly it doesn’t seem to bother them. Adults are a different story.

But did you know that up until as late as 1850 shoemakers didn’t differentiate between the left and the right? They made both shoes straight with no curve in them to shape to the feet. I can only imagine how awful they were to wear.

I’ve often stared at shoes in a museum and think how they must’ve hurt the wearer’s poor feet.

Thankfully, we’ve come a long way since the days of ill-fitting, uncomfortable shoes. Today, we have a wide range of options, including specialized running shoes that prioritize comfort and performance.

Whether you’re a seasoned runner or just starting your fitness journey, finding the right pair of running shoes can make all the difference.

Advanced technologies, such as cushioning systems, arch support, and breathable materials, ensure a comfortable and supportive fit for your feet.

To further enhance your running experience, you can also utilize the benefits of technology by using the best running app to track your progress, set goals, and receive personalized training plans.

With the combination of well-designed running shoes and the guidance provided by a reliable running app, you can enjoy a comfortable and efficient running experience while taking care of your feet and maximizing your performance.

My daughter took me shopping for some sandals for my birthday which is tomorrow and it took a while to find any that were comfortable. So I cannot imagine wearing a pair with both the left and right shaped the same. Good heavens!

And what if you were of the royal family or the queen and had to be graceful? It had to have taken strong will to hide a grimace.

Here are Queen Victoria’s wedding shoes. She wore a size 3 1/2 but was only 4’ 11” tall so I guess that’s in proportion to her.

Courtesy Northhampton Museum

Marie Antoinette of France owned 500 pairs of shoes. She also wore size 3. Of note, she lost a shoe going to the guillotine and her guards made her leave it. Coincidentally, she was 5’ 6”. Here are hers.

Musee des Beaux-Arts de Caen France

These are what Mary, Queen of Scots wore.

Ryder, J. T.; Mary, Queen of Scots’ Shoes; Museums Sheffield; http://www.artuk.org/artworks/mary-queen-of-scots-shoes-78267%5B/caption%5D

Two anonymous pair from the 18th century. Oh, my aching feet!!

[caption id="attachment_93542" align="aligncenter" width="860"] 18th Century Shoes The British Museum

 

Of note, women back then bound their toes in order to fit into smaller shoes. Especially the royals. They considered big feet to be distasteful. What I’m wondering is why they wanted sharp-toed shoes. The tip of the shoe turned up when worn and looks awful.

Big change came with the invention of machinery for making shoes and they were finally able to differentiate between left and right. Hallelujah! Or we’d still be forced to wear such horrible shoes or go back to strapping furs to our feet. I vote for furs!

My dad had little feet and had to wear a size 5 boys. My oldest sister always wore a women’s 5 and could rarely find shoes to fit. I wore a 5 until I had children then they grew to a 6 1/2.. Small feet came from my dad’s side. My mother wore a 9 and had trouble with her feet all her life.

What about you? Any family history to share or any thoughts about these uncomfortable shoes in the pictures?

Cattle Rustlin’ and Hangin’

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In the Old West, the terms rustling, and rustler had several meanings. Livestock who forged well were called rustlers by cowmen; meaning the animals could graze or “rustle up” nourishment on marginal land. A horse wrangler or camp cook was also a rustler, but the most widespread and notorious use of the word referred to a cattle thief.

On the vast open ranges of yesteryear, rustling was a serious problem and punishable by hanging. At its peak, one of the largest ranches in the Texas Panhandle had over 150,000 head of cattle and a thousand horses. Obviously, thieves could drive stolen livestock miles away before a rancher learned he had animals missing.

The vast distances to town, hence law enforcement, often prompted ranchers to take actions of their own. Court convictions for rustling were difficult because of the animosity of small ranchers and settlers toward big cattle outfits. Many times, “vigilante justice,” hang ‘um first…ask questions later, was handed down by organized stockmen. Like horse thieves, cattle rustlers could be hanged without benefit of trial, judge or jury.

Today, even with detailed brands logged in books, registering with state officials, inspectors, and the meticulous paperwork involving transportation, not to mention a new era of branding technology to keep track of animals, ranches still face cattle rustlers…those dishonest people who want to profit from selling cattle without the bother of raising them.

No longer is a single head of beef stolen for food or an occasional Native American slipping off the reservation to provide for his family… it is big business. Modern day rustlers often sneak onto rural ranches at night, or on weekends when the owners are away, steal and sell cattle. An average calf can bring thousands of dollars on the open market; so multiply that by a trailer, or even a truck load, of cattle and you can see why it’s a profitable business for thieves.

Amid warnings that cattle rustling is on the rise in Texas, recently the state Senate passed a measure that would stiffen penalties for stealing farm animals, making theft of even one head of livestock a third-degree felony drawing up to a ten year prison sentence and a fine. Until the proposal is signed into law, a rustler can steal ten or more head of livestock and the punishment is a drop in the bucket in comparison to the law of the Old West … hang ‘um high and fast. Cattle rustling wasn’t the only crimes of the 1800’s and earlier. Train robberies closed in on it.

But was hanging always fast and efficient? Maybe you can decide from the following!

I delved into the subject of cattle rustling and the methods of rustlers while researching for one of our anthologies where my Pinkerton Agent comes to the Panhandle to break up an outfit of rustlers. But I became interested in “vigilante justice” from my mother-in-law, who passed on ten years ago at the age of 92. A story teller, she was reared in Clayton, New Mexico. One of her favorite tales was about the outlaw Black Jack Ketchum, the first man hanged in the town. His execution turned into a big town event, with the lawmen actually selling tickets to the hangin’. As history has it, the sheriff had to use two blows of the hatchet before the rope broke. Probably because of their lack of experience in “structured” hangings, coupled with the lawmen misjudging Ketchum’s weight and stretching the rope during testing, he was beheaded. Ketchum was buried at Clayton’s Boot Hill on April 26, 1901.

But my mother-in-law’s story only began there. Three decades later, when she was in grade school, Ketchum’s grave was moved to the new cemetery. Because her father was Clayton’s mayor, she witnessed the reburial. According to her, they opened the grave and she and her cousin touched the bones of Ketchum’s little finger. I’m sure in those days a casket did not weather well.

Do you have a family story you’d like to share? What are your thoughts on vigilante justice of the 1800’s and earlier?

To one person who leaves a comment, I will give you a choice of an eBook copy of Out of a Texas Night or a gift card to
Bath and Body Works.

A NEW SERIES–COMING SOON FROM CHERYL PIERSON! by Cheryl Pierson

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I’m obsessed with mail-order bride stories. I can’t imagine what would make a young lady leave her home and head west to marry someone she’d never met, live in unfamiliar surroundings, and basically consign herself to a life of uncertainty from the moment she stepped foot on the train (or stagecoach).

But this “wondering” was what got me started on a massive writing project that I’m loving every minute of! My SWEET TEXAS GAMBLE series (and this is my first series!) was born of wondering what would happen if a gambler, Calum Ross, had won some mail-order brides for himself, his cousin Blake, and their best friends Paxton, Collin, Liam, and Jordan Taylor—four brothers who they’d grown up with.

Returning to Texas when the Civil War ends, the men are eager to get back to life as it was “before” they went off to fight. Calum has all but forgotten that odd bet he “won” in a smoky bar near the end of the war, and the others never even knew about it. Of course, marriage is the very last thing on any of their minds on their travels home. 

The six brides who are traveling to Texas from “back east” are as different from one another as any people could be, but during this long journey, they have embraced one another and become as close as sisters—they are family long before they ever cross the Red River.

The brides arrive before the men, to the unsuspecting Taylor family’s spacious home—and this excerpt is about the greeting they receive.

As I said, this is slated to be a series, as each of the couples have their own problems to overcome, with issues that happened before they ever met—and also, those that any couple might face—especially since they are starting marriage on such shaky ground.

I’m hoping this first book of the series will be released by early fall—and I’ll be sharing more about this venture as time goes by—but let me introduce you to some of my characters from SWEET TEXAS GAMBLE!

EXCERPT:

“Oh…my…stars,” Noelle gasped as the coach pulled to a halt in front of the elegant Spanish-style stucco home.

“As I live and breathe…” Angelica murmured. “Things are looking up already.”

“If we’re welcomed here, that is,” Tabitha added.

“Which we might not be,” Cami said quietly.

“Only one way to find out, ladies,” Jessamyn said firmly. “We’ll ask Mr. Fielding to wait a moment and see what kind of reception we get. No need to unload the luggage until we see.”

Just then, the front door opened wide and a man emerged. At the same time, the stage driver and shotgun rider called out a greeting, and the man lowered the barrel of the rifle he carried.

“Ain’t no call to shoot us, Lowell. We’re bringin’ a bevy of beautiful brides to your door!” Arnold joshed. He stepped lively to the stage door and opened it, and the women began to emerge in the heat of the June day.

 

“What in the cornbread hell—Arnold, is this some kind of sorry joke you’re pulling?”

The driver gave the man a peeved look, his bushy brows furrowing sharply. “I’ve saved you a drive into town, Taylor,” he said in a low growl. “The least you can do is be respectful in front of ladies.”

“Ladies!” Taylor scoffed loudly. “Load ’em back up. Only one here needs a bride is my foreman, J.A. Decker, and I ain’t gonna tempt him with a woman.”

“What’s going on, Lowell?” A woman’s voice came from somewhere inside the open doorway.

“Nothing, Ellen, just—”

A woman with a head of dark hair and emerald green eyes peered around the door, then, a wide smile of greeting lighting her features she moved past her husband onto the porch.

“Arnold Fielding, and Joe Darwin! Oh, and some weary travelers! Is there trouble?” Her look turned anxious.

“Only just now, Mrs. Taylor,” Joe muttered darkly.

She whirled to look at her husband, who towered over her by a good ten inches. Defiantly, she turned back to the group in the front yard and graciously announced, “Please, come inside and refresh yourselves.”  Looking past them, she motioned one of the stable boys forward. “Jose, please unhitch the team and take care of the horses. They’re hot and tired, too.”

The boy nodded, moving toward the horses.

“Should we unload the—” Arnold began.

“That can wait until we’ve cooled off some,” Ellen interrupted, motioning them forward. With a welcoming smile, she threw the door wide. “We have guests, Pilar,” she called.

“Si, senora,” came a muffled voice.

Lowell Taylor stood aside as the travelers climbed the front steps and entered his house. As Arnold brought up the rear, Lowell put a staying hand on his shoulder. “What the hell, Arnie?”

Arnold shook his head. “I don’t know any more’n you. They say they’re mail-order brides on their way here from back east somewheres.”

“Where back east? Hell, ever’thing’s ‘back east’ from where we are.”

“I don’t know, Lowell. It wasn’t my business. Said this is where they was headed, and I offered to bring ’em on out to save you a drive into town. It ain’t too far out of the way.”

Lowell stepped aside grudgingly. “You’ve never been one to trurn down Pilar’s lemonade and sopapillas. Reckon that’s why you offered so kindly.”

Arnold smiled. “No, sir. And I ain’t gonna make today any different.”

“Let’s go see what this is all about,” Lowell muttered. “Then I’ll decide if those women stay.”

Arnie chuckled. “Or, Miss Ellen will.”

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It was impossible to remain proper and aloof, the women soon discovered, in Ellen Taylor’s home. What her husband lacked in manners, she made up for in spades, with her welcoming demeanor, the genuine friendliness of her smiles, and her God-given ability to draw them out of their awkward reserve.

“When was the last time you ladies had a proper meal?” she asked, assuming that, no matter what, their funds would be running low by the end of their journey.

Quick looks at one another darted around the room, and she turned a blind eye, as if she didn’t notice.

“Pilar, perhaps you and Luisa could make some sandwiches for everyone,” Ellen instructed. “I’ll pour the lemonade.” 

“I’ve made tea, as well,” Pilar said with a quick nod as she excused herself and called to Luisa.

“Let’s move to the back porch, everyone,” Ellen said when she’d poured their glasses full of something to drink. “There’s a good breeze out there, usually.”

They’d all seated themselves except Lowell, who remained standing in the center of the porch looking around at all of the travelers, the driver, and the shotgun rider.

“Now I want some answers. Not to be rude—” he held out a hand as Ellen started to intervene, “—but I need to know what this is all about.”

Silence fell, and the others looked to the woman with blonde hair that was once curled, but now hung in tired, relaxed ringlets at the back, beneath her hat that looked as frayed and threadbare as her spirits. Her blue eyes still sparked with determination, and it was plain to see she was the one the others had come to depend on.

“Miss…” Ellen questioned, meeting the woman’s eyes.

“Thomas. Jessamyn Thomas. But I go by Jessie to my friends.”

Ellen smiled. “Jessamyn. What a lovely name. May I call you Jessie, then? Can you shed some light on this situation?”

Jessie nodded, and glanced at the others to be certain they approved of her speaking for all of them. “For various reasons, we had all ended up in Charleston, South Carolina, during the war, or at the war’s end. Also, we had all applied to the Potter Marriage Pairings Agency—”

“Mail-order brides,” Lowell muttered, raking Jessamyn with a disdainful gaze.

Seeing the fight come into her features, Ellen sent her husband a quelling look. She reached across one of the other women to touch Jessamyn’s hand. “Please, continue, my dear.”

Jessamyn turned away from Lowell’s steady glare to look at Ellen, effectively dismissing him. Ellen held back a smile.

“Yes. But we each have a reason for becoming a mail-order bride. And those reasons are for each of us to tell—our own stories—when the time is right.”

“But how did you come to be here? In Texas?” Ellen prodded.

Jessamyn lifted her chin. “We were…won. On a gamble. It-it was a card game, and Mr. Potter had nothing else to wager but part of his business holdings. Normally, he charges a fee to the—the prospective groom. And the groom would also pay travel expenses for—for the bride. So, Mr. Potter bet six brides.”

Lowell let out an indignant huff of disbelief. “And who would you have us believe would be stupid enough to wager a pot of money against six women who are desperate enough to—”

Jessamyn stood quickly as her anger got the best of her. “Mr. Taylor, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Whatever man becomes the husband of any of us will be the winner of that game, I can promise you.” Her voice shook with fury. “We are all here of our own accord. We are here honestly. We were told that we had husbands waiting for us.” Her blue eyes narrowed, but by now, Lowell Taylor stood, slack-jawed at the young woman’s dressing down.

“As for the man who—as you say—was stupid enough to gamble on us? That would be a dear friend of your family—a Mr. Calum James Ross.”

Lowell’s eyes widened at this, but Jessamyn wasn’t finished.

“So you see, when we meet with Mr. Ross, he will be able to explain everything to your exacting satisfaction, I believe, Mr. Taylor.”

The room fell deathly quiet, and a muttered “Sandwiches are ready,” sounded from the doorway.

****

I don’t know if I could be a mail-order bride–could you? 

1800’s Frugal Frontier Housewife

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THE AMERICAN FRUGAL HOUSEWIFE.
DEDICATED TO
THOSE WHO ARE NOT ASHAMED OF ECONOMY.

When I began my novella for Be My Texas Valentine, some nine years ago, I had to do some research on how laundry was done in the late 1800’s, so I went to my bookcase literally filled with reference books not only on the craft of writing, but books about everything anyone would ever want to know about the 1800’s. I’d totally forgotten about a CD I’d purchased with a number of works on it, including one written in 1832 and simply titled The American Frugal Housewife by a woman only identified as Mrs. Child. After reading a while, I decided in today’s economy it might be fun to visit some of Mrs. Child’s philosophy and guidelines from yesteryear.

The author’s premise is simple: “The true economy of housekeeping is simply the art of gathering up all the fragments, so that nothing be lost … Nothing should be thrown away so long as it is possible to make any use of it, however trifling that use may be … every member of the family should be employed either in earning or saving money.”

Here are some of her tips. Please note that I left much of the spelling and punctuation as it was originally written to truly reflect her authentic voice and the era.

• In this country, we are apt to let children romp away their existence, till they get to be thirteen or fourteen. This is not well. It is not well for the purses and {4} patience of parents; and it has a still worse effect on the morals and habits of the children. Begin early is the great maxim for everything in education. A child of six years old can be made useful; and should be taught to consider every day lost in which some little thing has not been done to assist others. They can knit garters, suspenders, and stockings; they can make patchwork and braid straw; they can make mats for the table, and mats for the floor; they can weed the garden, and pick cranberries from the meadow, to be carried to market.

• Provided brothers and sisters go together, and are not allowed to go with bad children, it is a great deal better for the boys and girls on a farm to be picking blackberries at six cents a quart, than to be wearing out their clothes in useless play. They enjoy themselves just as well; and they are earning something to buy clothes, at the same time they are tearing them.

• ‘Time is money.’ For this reason, cheap as stockings are, it is good economy to knit them. Cotton and woollen yarn are both cheap; hose that are knit wear twice as long as woven ones; and they can be done at odd minutes of time, which would not be otherwise employed. Where there are children, or aged people, it is sufficient to recommend knitting. Run the heels of stockings faithfully; and mend thin places, as well as holes. ‘A stitch in time saves nine.’

• Patchwork is good economy, but it is indeed a foolish waste of time to tear gppd cloth into bits for the sake of arranging it anew in fantastic figures; but a large family may be kept out of idleness, and a few shillings saved, by thus using scraps of gowns, curtains, &c. 

 

ODD SCRAPS FOR THE ECONOMICAL

• Look frequently to the pails, to see that nothing is thrown to the pigs which should have been in the grease-pot.
• Look to the grease-pot, and see that nothing is there which might have served to nourish your own family, or a poorer one.
• See that the beef and pork are always under brine; and that the brine is sweet and clean.
• Preserve the backs of old letters to write upon. If you have children who are learning to write, buy coarse white paper by the quantity, and keep it locked up, ready to be made into writing books. It does not cost half as much as it does to buy them at the stationer’s.
• The oftener carpets are shaken, the longer they wear; the dirt that collects under them, grinds out the threads. Do not have carpets swept any oftener than is absolutely necessary. After dinner, sweep the crumbs into a dusting-pan with your hearth-brush; and if you have been sewing, pick up the shreds by hand. A carpet can be kept very neat in this way; and a broom wears it very much. When a carpet is faded, I have been told that it may be restored, in a great measure, (provided there be no grease in it,) by being dipped into strong salt and water. I never tried this; but I know that silk pocket handkerchiefs, and deep blue factory cotton will not fade, if dipped in salt and water while new Keep a coarse broom for the cellar stairs, wood-shed, yard, &c. No good housekeeper allows her carpet broom to be used for such things.
• Suet and lard keep better in tin than in earthen. Suet keeps good all the year round, if chopped and packed down in a stone jar, covered with molasses. Pick suet free from veins and skin, melt it in water before a moderate fire, let it cool till it forms into a hard cake, then wipe it dry, and put it in clean paper in linen bags.
• The covering of oil-flasks, sewed together with strong thread, and lined and bound neatly, makes useful tablemats.
• Never leave out your clothes-line over night; and see that your clothes-pins are all gathered into a basket.
• After old coats, pantaloons, &c. have been cut up for boys, and are no longer capable of being converted into garments, cut them into strips, and employ the leisure moments of children, or domestics, in sewing and braiding them for door-mats.
• An ounce of quicksilver, beat up with the white of two eggs, and put on with a feather, is the cleanest and surest bed-bug poison. What is left should be thrown away: it is dangerous to have it about the house. If the vermin are in your walls, fill up the cracks with verdigris-green paint.1
• Eggs will keep almost any length of time in lime-water properly prepared. One pint of coarse salt, and one pint of unslacked lime, to a pailful of water. If there be too much lime, it will eat the shells from the eggs; and if there be a single egg cracked, it will spoil the whole. They should be covered with lime-water, and kept in a cold place. The yolk becomes slightly red; but I have seen eggs, thus kept, perfectly sweet and fresh at the end of three years. The cheapest time to lay down eggs, is early in spring, and the middle and last of September. It is bad economy to buy eggs by the dozen, as you want them.
• If feather-beds smell badly, or become heavy, from want of proper preservation of the feathers, or from old age, empty them, and wash the feathers thoroughly in a tub of suds; spread them in your garret to dry, and they will be as light and as good as new.
• Feathers should be very thoroughly dried before they are used. For this reason they should not be packed away in bags, when they are first plucked. They should be laid lightly in a basket, or something of that kind, and stirred up often. The garret is the best place to dry them; because they will there be kept free from dirt and moisture; and will be in no danger of being blown away. It is well to put the parcels, which you may have from time to time, into the oven, after you have removed your bread, and let them stand a day.

I don’t know about you, but I became exhausted by just reading about the do’s and don’t of a frugal frontier housewife. May of her tips are still used today.

So, what chore do you find the least pleasant and which might be fun?

I will be giving away a copy of my newest contemporary romance “Out of a Texas Night” to one lucky commenter, but if you have already read it, I bet I can find one of the others to give away in it’s place.

 

Janalyn Voigt: Ghost Town in the Rearview Mirror

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We welcome our guest blogger, Janalyn Voigt!

Virginia City, Nevada is one of the West’s famous ghost towns, but Virginia City in Montana is less known. That’s a shame because this Montana town played an important part in the history of Montana Territory.

The year was 1863 when a group of miners led by William (Bill) Fairweather passed through Alder Gulch. Following a scrape with Crow Indians, the men were on their way home to Bannack City, a boomtown where miners flocked after the discovery of gold in nearby Grasshopper Creek. Fairweather’s group paused in Alder Gulch near the headwaters of the waterway known as the Stinkingwater (now Alder Creek). The men aimed to mine enough gold to pay for tobacco. They found that many times over. The men had chanced upon the richest placer gold strike in the Rocky Mountains.

The men tried to keep their discovery to themselves, but flashing money around Bannack revealed their secret. When they set out again for Alder Gulch, they set off a ‘stampede’ of hopeful miners. Virginia City went up within weeks. Men arrived daily to seek their fortune.

Bannack was winding down as a source of easy gold. With most of the population living in Alder Gulch. Virginia City replaced Bannack as the capital of Montana Territory in 1864. The town served in that capacity until 1875, when the territorial seat was moved to Helena.

I discovered Virginia City while on a summer road trip through Montana with my family. After a long drive through the Beartooth Mountains, we’d passed only one roadhouse. I enjoy wilderness areas, but it was a relief when Virginia City unfolded before us in the late afternoon sun. We stopped at the gas station, where I picked up a brochure that told of outlaws, stagecoaches, and vigilante justice.

Robbers Roost particularly awed me. The brochure informed me that this notorious roadhouse several miles from town was where outlaws rode out to rob gold-laden stagecoaches bound for Virginia City. I felt the weight of history and an unction to tell the story of this place.

Several years later, I returned to Virginia City on a research trip for a western historical romance series that would do just that. It was autumn, so late in the season that snow was falling. The town’s sparse bed and breakfasts were closed until spring, but my husband and I managed to wangle a bed for the night in a renovated cabin. The next day dawned bright and clear. We climbed boot hill to the outlaw gravesite located outside the main cemetery where law-abiding citizens were buried.

A stroll through the cemetery took me past the grave of Thomas J. Dimsdale, the mild-mannered author of The Vigilantes of Montana, an eyewitness account of the vigilante activities in the area. Released in 1866, it was the first book published in Montana.

After reading his account, I felt acquainted with the man. It seemed strange to find him lying in a grave. The brevity of life struck me anew, and I was glad to come down from boot hill.

As Virginia City dwindled in the rear-view mirror, we drove through a landscape marred by tailings, large piles of rocks deposited by the mining operations all along Alder Gulch. There was little left of the settlement dubbed ‘Fourteen-Mile City.’

How about you? Have you been to a ghost town?

To one lucky person who leaves a comment,
Janalyn is giving away a $15.00 Amazon Gift Card.

 

Bio: Janalyn Voigt fell in love with literature at an early age when her father read classics to her as bedtime stories. When Janalyn grew older, she put herself to sleep with her own made-up tales. Her sixth-grade teacher noticed her love of storytelling and encouraged her to become a writer. Today Janalyn is a multi-genre author. Janalyn writes the kind of novels she likes to read – epic adventures brimming with romance, mystery, history, and whimsy. She is praised for her unpredictable plots and the lyrical, descriptive prose that transports readers into breathtaking storyworlds. Janalyn Voigt is represented by Wordserve Literary. Learn more about Janalyn and her books at http://janalynvoigt.com.

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