19th Century History

Location, Location, Location (And a Fun Giveaway!)-by Nancy Fraser

by

Location, Location, Location

Nancy Fraser

As dedicated as most authors are to the authenticity of our characters, their professions, and the historical details of the time period we’ve chosen, we get a small amount of latitude from… you guessed it… our latitude and longitude! Our location, to be exact.

While some authors choose to set their stories in real-life towns with the location’s history already built in, a good majority of western romance authors create their own small pieces of eventual paradise. I say “eventual” because it’s not uncommon for one or both of our main characters to be thrust into a place or situation not of their choosing.

As an author with over sixty sweet, western romances under my belt, I’ve gone in both directions. The three books I wrote for the popular Christmas Quilt series were all set in the real town of Castle Rock, Oregon. I chose Castle Rock because of it’s interesting history. From the early Native American Yakima tribe who drove their horses across the Columbia River, to the thirteen-family wagon train campsite in 1847 who were subject to a livestock stampede initiated by a number of tribes from the surrounding area, the early going was difficult.

Eventually though, Castle Rock was settled. By 1881 they had a train station, a steamboat landing, warehouses for wheat and wool, and a general store. They got their first post office in 1883 (a fact I used when I made my heroine’s father the postmaster). And, while some dreamed of leaving Castle Rock for bigger and better things, that didn’t always happen. My heroines, Audrey, Sarah, and Raine, were destined to find their HEA so I’ve bundled all three stories into A Castle Rock Christmas and the ladies seem right at home.

While bringing history to life is a worthy endeavor, creating a fictitious town is also a lot of fun. In one of my earliest sweet western historical romances, A Christmas Baby for Beatrice, I created White Mountain, Washington. Designed as a somewhat remote location, my hero’s home sat on the side of a mountain, surrounded by trees. Given my hero is an author and a professor of horticulture with his own university-funded greenhouse, the location made sense… even to a city girl like my widowed heroine.

All these exciting locations (real and made up) aside, I’m about to embark on my biggest location challenge. On September 25, I’ll release Agnes: Cape Breton Highland Bride. Set in the Canadian province of Nova Scotia in the early 1900s, it’s part of the National Park Brides series that began a couple of years ago and is still going strong today with it’s third set of books scheduled for this fall.

It’s not just the location that’s going to be a challenge. I’ve been to Cape Breton Highlands National Park a number of times. The story I’m planning is a homage to my late mother-in-law and father-in-law. It’s their love story and, while I may bend a few of the details to fit the book, the locations and romance are all true. I’m excited and nervous in equal measure.

However, before I get myself off to Cape Breton, I still have to deal with one of my favorite twice-used locations, the fictitious town of Santa Rosa, Montana. My latest release, Their Marriage Bargain, is the second book set in the small town not far from Bozeman.

Their Marriage Bargain

Julia Wilson is tired of life in Baltimore, and of her mother’s incessant attempts to marry her off despite having a career of her own. When the opportunity to travel to Montana and work with her doctor cousin presents itself, she jumps at the chance.

Lucas Palmer is the sheriff of Santa Rosa, Montana, a growing town surrounded by large cattle ranches and mining concerns. He’s also a recently jilted groom, his intended shunning the cold winters of Montana in favor of the warmer western coastline. Determined to remain single rather than face another failure, he must delicately sidestep the young women looking to snag a husband.

When Julia arrives, it’s attraction at first sight for both her and the handsome lawman. Yet, she’s determined to settle in with her new job and new home before she even entertains being courted. Frustrated by the unwanted advances of the town’s men, she’s at her wits end when Lucas suggests they strike a bargain.

A pre-marriage, engagement bargain. While they’re both immediately taken off the market, their ruse is anything but convenient with each passing day making them long for a real arrangement, rather than make believe.

Which one will crack first and admit their feelings? Or are they destined to suffer in companionable silence?

You can find Julia’s and Lucas’s adventure on Kindle Unlimited HERE.

GIVEAWAY

I’d love to hear from the followers of Petticoats & Pistols. Do you have a favorite book location? It can be either real or a figment of the author’s imagination. Did they sell their make-believe town so well, that you fell in love?

For all those who comment, I’ll be giving away a few prizes as follows:

Two e-book copies of my latest release, Their Marriage Bargain

Two e-book copies of A Castle Rock Christmas anthology, and

I’ll reserve one e-book copy of Agnes: Cape Breton Highland Bride to be sent on release day.

BONUS! In addition to the above giveaways, Nancy has a free copy of A Christmas Baby for Beatrice for everyone! You can download your free copy Available today through the weekend only.

Thank you so much for allowing me to spend some time here on the blog. I look forward to your comments.

Blessings,

Nancy

~*~*~*~

NANCY FRASER is a bestselling and award-winning author who can’t seem to decide which romance genre suits her best. So, she writes them all.

Her preferred genres are sweet western historical and sweet small-town contemporary. However, she has been known to dabble in the most unusual genres.

When not writing (which is almost never), Nancy dotes on her five wonderful grandchildren and looks forward to traveling and reading when time permits. Nancy lives in Atlantic Canada where she enjoys the relaxed pace and colorful people.

You can follow Nancy here:

Amazon Author Page ~ Bookbub ~ BlueSky Social  ~ Facebook ~ Goodreads

 

No Walls Between: Open Classrooms and One-Room Schoolhouses

by

Hello, everyone. Winnie Griggs here. It’s back-to-school season, and that always takes me back to the years when my four children were in school.

The elementary school they attended was a little unusual. It served children from kindergarten through fifth grade, but there were no walls separating the classrooms. Each class had its own teacher and designated space, but all those spaces occupied one large, open floor plan. Some were separated by low bookcases, some by large plants, and others had no physical boundary at all.

Imagine several teachers conducting lessons at the same time, with neighboring classes in full view—and definitely within hearing. But the teachers found ways to hold their students’ attention, and the children learned to concentrate on what was happening in their own area despite all the activity around them.

My kids are adults now, so I recently asked what they remembered about the experience. All four said that, looking back, the arrangement sounded as though it should have been distracting, but it really wasn’t. In fact, the hallways and closed-off classrooms of middle school felt a bit confining by comparison, at least at first.

When I began researching nineteenth-century schools for some of my books, I realized that my children’s open-concept school shared a few characteristics with the old one-room schoolhouse.

Of course, there was one very important difference. Each of my children’s classes had its own teacher. In a one-room schoolhouse, a single teacher might be responsible for everyone from young beginners to teenagers.

That teacher certainly had her hands full.

Rather than dividing students into grades according to age, teachers often grouped them by knowledge and ability. One group might be called forward to recite a reading lesson while the other children worked independently at their desks. Then another group would take its turn with arithmetic, spelling, geography, or grammar.

With so many lessons being conducted in the same room, students couldn’t help overhearing material meant for other groups. Younger children might pick up bits of what the older pupils were studying, while older students heard familiar lessons again and reinforced what they had already learned. More advanced pupils sometimes helped the younger ones as well.

The schoolroom itself was usually simple. It might contain rows of desks or benches, a teacher’s desk, a blackboard, pegs for coats and hats, and a stove to provide heat in cold weather. A water bucket and shared dipper were common fixtures. Compared to today’s brightly decorated classrooms, there were few visual aids or other teaching materials.

Students didn’t arrive carrying backpacks stuffed with spiral notebooks, colored markers, glue sticks, and folders. A child might bring a slate and slate pencil, along with a speller or another textbook—if the family owned one. Books were sometimes handed down through the family or shared among students.

Lunch could be carried in a tin pail, basket, or cloth bundle. Depending on what was available at home, it might include bread, biscuits, cheese, fruit, a hard-boiled egg, or a slice of cold meat.

In some communities, a child might also arrive carrying a piece of firewood or some kindling to help keep the schoolhouse warm.

Recitation and memorization were important parts of the learning process. Children were often expected to stand and repeat a lesson, spell words aloud, work a problem, or recite a memorized passage.

The school calendar could be quite different from the one we know today. Classes were sometimes arranged around the needs of the community. Planting and harvest seasons could affect both the school term and daily attendance because children were needed at home. Distance, bad weather, illness, and family responsibilities also played a part in whether a student made it to school on a given day.

Keeping so many ages occupied—and reasonably quiet—required organization, patience, and a firm set of rules. The teacher prepared lessons for every age and ability level, maintained order and discipline, settled disputes, tended the stove, and sometimes cleaned the schoolroom. She might also board with local families, moving from one household to another during the school term.

Her behavior could be closely watched both inside and outside the classroom. A teacher—particularly an unmarried woman—was often expected to serve as a model of proper conduct for the entire community.

The one-room schoolhouse wasn’t used only for lessons. In many small towns, it was one of the few public buildings large enough to hold a gathering. It might host church services, elections, community meetings, lectures, spelling bees, holiday programs, debates, and celebrations.

That aspect of the schoolhouse found its way into my newest release, The Heart of Honor.

My heroine, Mercy Owens, teaches the children of Hawthorn, Texas, in 1876. But her schoolhouse is more than her workplace. It also becomes the gathering place for the committee planning Hawthorn’s celebration of the nation’s Centennial—and the town’s own fiftieth anniversary.

Mercy is determined to make certain the sacrifices of Hawthorn’s citizens are properly remembered.

In many ways, the schoolhouse is at the heart of both Mercy’s life and her community, just as those simple buildings stood at the heart of so many nineteenth-century towns.

Available for purchase HERE

 

Goodreads Book Giveaway

The Heart of Honor by Winnie Griggs

The Heart of Honor

by Winnie Griggs

Giveaway ends August 17, 2026.

See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.

Enter Giveaway

The elementary school my children attended was considered modern and innovative, yet its open design echoed a much older style of education. In both settings, children learned to concentrate amid the murmur of other lessons. Learning didn’t always stay neatly confined to one class or one age group.

Still, I can only imagine the skill—and stamina—it took for one teacher to manage an entire schoolroom by herself.

What about you? How do you think you would have fared in a one-room schoolhouse with several ages and lessons going on around you? Leave a comment to be entered in a giveaway for a signed copy of one of my books.

 

Patriotism, Parades, and Picnics: The Centennial of 1876

by

Hello everyone, Winnie Griggs here. As many of you know, I’ve been hard at work on my upcoming historical romance, The Heart of Honor, my contribution to our Petticoats and Patriots series. The story is set in 1876, a year that held special significance for Americans because it marked the nation’s one hundredth birthday.

 

While doing research for the book, I found myself paying particular attention to how people actually celebrated the Centennial. We all know about fireworks and Fourth of July picnics, but what did the celebration look like for ordinary folks living in small towns and rural communities far from the nation’s largest cities?

The Centennial Exposition held in Philadelphia was one of the most visible parts of the national celebration. It was the first official World’s Fair held in the United States and drew visitors from around the globe. New inventions, technological marvels, and exhibits showcasing America’s progress filled the fairgrounds. For many people, attending the exposition was the opportunity of a lifetime.

But not everyone could travel to Philadelphia.

Across the country, both large and small communities found their own ways to celebrate. Towns organized parades, patriotic speeches, church services, brass band concerts, community picnics, and readings of the Declaration of Independence. Buildings were decorated with flags and bunting, and local newspapers often devoted special coverage to the occasion.

What I found especially interesting was that the celebrations often reflected the region where they took place.

In New England, many communities highlighted their connections to the Revolutionary War and the nation’s earliest history. In the South, the Centennial arrived just eleven years after the end of the Civil War, so the celebrations often carried a different tone as communities continued rebuilding and healing. Meanwhile, in the growing western states and territories, festivities frequently blended patriotic observances with the practical realities and traditions of frontier life.

One detail that especially caught my attention was how the Centennial encouraged Americans to look back as well as forward. While much attention was given to the nation’s progress and future possibilities, there was also a renewed appreciation for the people and events that had shaped the country’s first hundred years. Some communities and families reflected on their own histories, sharing stories and preserving memories of earlier generations.

In fact, this aspect of the Centennial helped inspire a key part of my story. My heroine, Mercy Owens, serves on her town’s Centennial Planning Committee and is responsible for collecting the stories and artifacts of the people who helped build the community. Like me, she believes that family stories are often what bring history to life. Dates and events have their place, but it is the people behind those events—their sacrifices, dreams, struggles, and triumphs—that make the past meaningful.

As I continue working on The Heart of Honor, I find myself thinking about that balance between remembering where we’ve been and looking ahead to where we’re going. Perhaps that’s one reason the Centennial captured the imagination of so many Americans in 1876.

So now I’m curious: If your hometown were celebrating its 100th anniversary, what story, keepsake, or piece of family history would you contribute to a community display? Leave a comment to be entered in a drawing for a signed copy of one of my books.

 

Fun news! The first issue of Petticoats & Patriots Magazine is here! Filled with Revolutionary War features, inspiring articles, patriotic recipes, reader activities, and stories celebrating the courage that built a nation, this special collector’s edition is the perfect way to begin celebrating America’s 250th birthday. Available now! Get your FREE digital copy HERE!

If you haven’t had a chance to check out our Petticoats and Patriots series yet, you can read about the first 5 books on our series page HERE.

And don’t forget, the first book in the series, Shanna’s For Liberty and Love. releases on June 16th and is available now for PREORDER!

 

 

Old Photos Tell New Stories

by

In 1982, when my Great-Aunt Alice died, the few personal belongings she had in the nursing home came to me. Among them were a couple of pieces of jewelry, a photo album and some larger loose photos, her art portfolio from when she was drawing in the 1940s and 50s, and her father’s collection of writings. Her father was a writer and a sports reporter for the Chicago Inter Ocean newspaper during the post-Civil War days through the late 1800s. The story of her father and mother I’ll save for another blog, but I’ll tease you with this: His writings include several semi-pornographic poems circa 1877. Yup, there’s really nothing new under the sun, is there?

When the Meehan branch of my family—my mom’s side—had a Cousins Reunion about fifteen years ago, I dug out the photos from Aunt Alice and brought them with me. They were a treasure trove of family history, except that many of them were unlabeled. Unless someone recognized the folks in the pictures, we had no idea who we were seeing. After looking at dozens of old pictures, dating back as far the 1860s, I began to understand how some family pictures end up in antiques stores. When you’re cleaning out your grandmother’s house of fifty or sixty years of clutter, and there are no names to attach to photos, perhaps it is easier to just abandon them. Thankfully, we didn’t do that.

One of the unlabeled, rather tattered pictures became known as the “mystery photo” and all the cousins took a turn examining it, comparing it to known pictures of ancestors, and peering at it endlessly with the magnifying glass. The photo has five young women, dressed in what appears to be wedding garb—long lacy dresses, headpieces with veils—a photo expert dated it somewhere between 1900 and 1920.

I’m fairly sure that I know who two of the women are: One is my Great-Aunt Alice (upper right) and one is my Great-Aunt Ruth (upper left). Alice, we verified with a known photo of her taken at roughly the same time where she’s wearing the same necklace she has on in the group shot. We did the same with Great-Aunt Ruth, although she’s very distinctive looking anyway. The one sitting on the cushion down in the front could be my grandmother, also named Ruth, but when she was very young. That young girl looks remarkably like my own mother when she was in her early teens.

Great Aunt-Alice about the same time time as the wedding picture.

We still have no clue who the others in the photo are or what the event is—we’ve considered that it might be a wedding since they’re all dressed in fancy clothes and carrying flowers. We also thought maybe it was a Job’s Daughters photo or a Sunday School class or a graduation. We seriously have no idea, but we’re kinda going with wedding idea.

But whose wedding? Which young woman is the bride? The one sitting on the settee on the right seems to have a fancier dress and her flowers look more like a bouquet and not a basket like the others—is she the bride?  If so, why isn’t she front and center? The ancestor she looks most like is Great-Aunt Emma, but we don’t believe she’d have had such a fancy wedding. This appears to be a really extravagant affair with four bridesmaids in pretty snazzy dresses.  Honestly, no one in our family could’ve afforded a big fancy wedding, so at this point, it remains a mystery.

I’ll continue to research this photo, as well as several others that we pondered over during Cousins Reunion–I’ll keep you posted if I find out anything new about these lovely ladies. Do any of you have any mystery photos? Pictures with no information written on the back? People you have zero idea who the folks are? Tell all!

 

Traveling Performers in the 1800s.

by

 

On the Texas frontier, justice is a long ride. And love is the most dangerous gamble of all.

Jess’s Reckoning is now up for preorders! Won’t be long until release day on May 12th. I had so much fun with this story as Jess and Abigail find themselves trapped in an outlaw town where death awaits around every corner.

One of the more humorous parts is the fact that newspaperwoman Abigail Farnsworth wears a black wig over her blonde curls in an effort to escape notice. She has access to all sorts of fake wigs, mustaches, and beards through a woman she meets who once traveled across America with an acting troupe.

Research proved extremely helpful and I learned that wigs and artificial facial hair were very prevalent back in the 1800s. Of course, the judges and lawyers wore white wigs like their British counterparts but others wore a variety of colors for different reasons. Hair loss was a big thing back then. Maybe due to bad water, medicines made with opium and alcohol, and lead that was often in food and their homes. They were made of horsehair and other animal hair, sheep’s wool, vegetable fibers, and human hair. Egyptians wore wigs because they shaved their heads. In fact, they were probably the first people to wear them.

There were two different kinds of traveling performers – the medicine show and what was called tent repertoire theater. The medicine shows traveled by wagon out west selling elixirs and mostly fake medicines. They used an actor or two to entertain the crowd while the salesman made the pitch. Tent repertoire theaters were just that—performances in tents that could be pitched anywhere.

In my book the wigs and hair pieces were needed for disguises that helped them move around the outlaw town of Diablo Springs. Once you entered, you were not allowed to leave. Something Jess and Abigail learn too late.

While they’re kept there, they discover Jess’s little sister, the last of his missing siblings to be found. And that only complicates things more. Jess has his work cut out for him and after he’s beaten severely on the head with a hefty club, he’s left with double vision, headaches, and intermittent dizziness. You get the picture. Scary times.

Have you ever worn a wig or hairpiece? If not, would you want one? I have a nice wig that I bought following a botched haircut. I learned firsthand that they’re not all that much fun and I couldn’t wait for my hair to grow out so I could retire the wig. Every so often I get it out for a special occasion. And I also have a purple wig I bought for Halloween. Here’s a picture.

 

If you haven’t preordered Jess’s Reckoning, CLICK HERE. And if you’d like to read an excerpt, CLICK HERE. 

Spring Cleaning – 19th Century Style

by

 

Hello – Winnie Griggs here. With spring settling in across my corner of Louisiana, I’ve started noticing that familiar urge to open the windows, let in some fresh air, and maybe tackle a few long-postponed chores around the house. It’s something many of us think of as “spring cleaning”.

It got me wondering what that looked like for folks living back in the late 1800s, so of course I had to do a little research. And as it turns out, spring cleaning back then wasn’t just a good idea – it was practically a necessity.

Why Spring Cleaning Mattered

During the winter months, homes were kept tightly closed up against the cold. Wood stoves and fireplaces burned day and night, leaving behind soot and ash that settled on just about every surface. Fresh air was in short supply, and by the time spring arrived, things could feel a bit…stale.

So when the weather finally warmed, it wasn’t just about tidying up – it was about restoring a home to something fresh and livable again.

Not Just on the Surface

And when I say cleaning, I don’t mean a quick once-over.

Rugs were hauled outside and beaten to remove months of dust. Bedding and mattresses were carried into the sunshine to air out. Curtains were taken down and washed, which was no small task when every bit of it had to be done by hand.

Floors were scrubbed, often on hands and knees. Walls might be wiped down, especially in areas where soot had built up. Windows were thrown open and cleaned to let in as much light and fresh air as possible.

It was hard, time-consuming work – the kind that could take days to complete.

There were no shelves of cleaning products to choose from, of course. Most families relied on homemade solutions.

Lye soap was a common staple – effective, but harsh. Scrub brushes, rags, buckets, and a good bit of elbow grease did the rest. And spring cleaning often doubled as a time to take stock – deciding what needed mending, what needed replacing, and what had simply worn out over the winter.

A Town-Wide Effort

In a small town, this wasn’t something happening in isolation.

Chances are, your neighbors were doing the same thing at the same time. Doors and windows would be open, rugs draped over fences, voices carrying from one yard to the next. There may have even been a bit of neighborly helping going on – especially when it came to heavier tasks.

It created a kind of shared rhythm – a sense that the whole town was shaking off winter together and stepping into something new.

Not Just Inside the Home

Of course, it wasn’t just the inside of the house that got attention this time of year.

Barns and stables needed clearing after a long winter, with fresh bedding laid down and repairs made where weather and wear had taken their toll. In a small town, the livery stable would have been especially busy – stalls mucked out, doors and hinges checked, and everything set back in good working order.

Harnesses and saddles were cleaned and oiled, wagon wheels inspected, and tools sharpened in preparation for the months ahead. Fences might be repaired, sheds cleared, and yards straightened up after winter storms.

Spring was also a common time to whitewash fences, outbuildings, or even parts of a home’s exterior.

And for many families, attention also turned to the kitchen garden. Beds were cleared of winter debris, the soil turned and worked, and early plantings set in as soon as the ground allowed. It was another sign of the season shifting – not just putting things back in order, but preparing for what would grow in the months ahead.

All of it was part of the same seasonal shift – a quiet but steady effort to move from the stillness of winter into the activity of spring.

More Than Just Cleaning

And maybe that’s the part I find most interesting.

Spring cleaning wasn’t only about dust and dirt. It marked a turning point. A chance to put winter behind you and look ahead to planting, travel, gatherings, and all the activity that came with warmer days.

In a way, it was as much about clearing out the old as it was about making room for what was to come.

 

 We may have more conveniences today, but that pull toward a fresh start each spring hasn’t really changed. There’s still something satisfying about opening the windows, letting in the breeze, and putting things back in order after a long season.

Maybe that’s why the idea of spring cleaning has lasted this long – because deep down, it’s never really been just about cleaning. It’s about fresh starts, open windows, and the quiet hope that a new season might bring something better with it.

What about you – do you have a spring cleaning routine you follow each year, do you change things up from time to time, or is it something you tend to put off as long as possible? Leave aa comment about this or any aspect of this post to be entered in a drawing for a signed copy of one of my books.

When “The West” Was Still East of the Mississippi

by

Last month, my writing bestie, Liz Flaherty, and I went on our biannual retreat. Even though we talk every day on gChat, these retreats are our shared personal moments of Zen. We’ve been going on retreat together every late winter and early fall for at least ten years. The late winter is usually four nights, 5 days in a place that offers decent restaurants, a few shops, and quiet places to set up to write. Think boutique hotels and state park inns. We’ve actually been going to the same boutique hotel in the hills of southern Indiana for several years, but this year, we tried a new adventure.

We chose the hills of southern Indiana again, but this trip, we booked four nights at an inn in New Harmony, Indiana. Neither of us had ever been there before, so we were taking a chance, but the website looked good and the history looked downright fascinating.

New Harmony is the site of two early American Utopian communities formed when “out West” was the frontier in what is now the Midwest United States. George Rapp, who began the Harmony Society settled on the banks of the Wabash River in 1814. The Harmonists, a religious sect, believed that Jesus was coming back very soon, so they lived their lives in striving for perfection in everything they did. They formed a community together, building over 150 log structures and creating the town of Harmony. They were entirely self-sufficient, although they did trade goods with towns along the Wabash, Ohio, and Mississippi Rivers, including places as far away as New Orleans and Pittsburgh.

In 1824, Rapp sold the community to Robert Owen, who had enough money to simply buy the whole town. Owen was more of a secularist, focused on social equality and education, as well as nature rather than perfection. The people who settled in New Harmony were progressive thinkers, scholars, even early feminists who all lived together communally. New Harmony was bastion of social progress out on the frontier. They founded one of the nation’s first co-ed public schools, they had trade schools, and they studied nature, in particular geology. The experiment thrived in some ways, but also failed due to internal conflicts, lack of strong leadership, and a lack of skilled labor and production.

The town is now a National Historic Landmark, and although it is no longer a “Utopia,” they’ve done a great job at preserving the stories of the utopias and ideals that both Rapp and Owen tried to create. The whole town just reeks of history, and Liz and I found something new to explore each afternoon after we got done writing for the day. It’s different from other small tourist towns in that it doesn’t cater to shoppers, it caters to lovers of history. The town is quite walkable. As a matter of fact, we saw more golf carts than cars.

The thing we noticed most about our stay in New Harmony was how incredibly peaceful the town was—the quiet, which could’ve been disconcerting, was actually extraordinary. We wandered–oh, how we wandered! All through an old hilly cemetery,  through the spectacular cathedral labyrinth, past home after restored home, and into a lovely old church that remains open twenty-four hours. The beautiful magnolia trees, the spring flowers, the friendly folks we met while walking, the labyrinths and museums, even the restaurants exuded the harmony and peace that was the cornerstone of the town in the early nineteenth century.

This place was the frontier, the West in 1814, but it wasn’t the Wild West. It wasn’t cowboys and cattle drives and saloons and ranches. Rather it was one group of people’s vision of what paradise could be.

What’s your vision of paradise? Mine varies—sometimes it’s a house in a small town on Lake Michigan that is easy walking distance to the lake where I can walk the beach whenever I want. Other times it’s a small cottage in Provence, living among the lavender fields and vineyards. But my paradise always includes Husband, my kids, my friends, and books!

FYI: Make It Real, book 2 in my Walkers of River’s Edge series is still on sale for just 99 cents, but only for a few more days! If you haven’t been to River’s Edge yet, now’s your chance. More sweet, small town romance in beautiful southern Indiana!

 

Victorian Flirtations and Silent Communication

by

 

I’ll be the first to admit, I was never good at flirting. And, a few years ago when I ran across the way that entire conversations or flirtations could be done, silently, I laughed. Not because they aren’t clever. Oh, yes, they are. Though, if everyone knew what was being said, I guess it wasn’t completely discreet? I laughed because I would never be clever enough to remember all of these. With my luck (and clumsiness!) I’d be saying the very, very wrong things! Take a look at what I mean!

 

 

 

Aren’t these terribly clever? So much could be said! Now, while many people swear this existed, and it’s likely that it did in some fashion, others have claimed it was a marketing ploy or a myth, something that only a few did or pretended to do to be mysterious. Still…can you imagine the fun a couple might have had with this?

Fans and gloves served as more than a beautiful accessory for a woman or man. There was an incredible practical side as well.

Gloves acted as a barrier against germs in public spaces, and not only kept the hands clean, but for women, protected them from the sun, keeping them soft and pale, and proving that they were a woman of leisure, not one who had to work. However, wearing gloves as a woman was mandatory, as a women without them would be consisted inappropriately undressed! And, did you know that they were different gloves for different activities? One would not wear the same gloves to ride, to go church, or attend a party. 

For fans, they served multiple purposes as well. As electric fans and air conditioners didn’t exist, a fan was the only way to get a welcome breeze and to find a bit of relief on hot days. In a crowded place, they also helped provide air flow, to decrease unpleasant odors. A fan could protect the face from sunlight, protecting it, and a woman could hide behind it or be distracted by it in uncomfortable social situations.

I have also heard that there were secret languages created with hankies, others with parasols, and I think we are all familiar with flowers or herbs having meanings. I wonder what other things might have been used to create a secret language and communicate or flirt in silence.

Did you have a favorite way to communicate from those lists? Or one you might do by accident, just out of habit with that gesture? If so, drop it here and tell me! 

 

 

A Ground-Breaking Post

by

Hello – Winnie Griggs here. Earlier today (Thursday) I heard news that caught my attention – an earthquake had been recorded about eighty miles south of where I live here in NW Louisiana. Even more surprising, it registered as a 4.9, making it the largest earthquake ever recorded inland in the state (There was a 5.2 registered offshore about 20 years ago). Luckily there weren’t any reports of serious injuries or property damage.

While we’re used to hurricanes, tornadoes and the occasional ice storm, earthquakes aren’t one of the natural disasters normally associated with my home state. That got me wondering what earthquakes must have been like for folks living in the Old West, long before modern seismology explained what was happening beneath the ground. Naturally this event sent me down one of my research rabbit holes.

Without modern scientific explanations, earthquakes could be deeply unsettling events. Many people initially assumed the shaking was caused by thunder, a mine explosion, or even distant artillery fire. It sometimes took time for residents to realize that towns across an entire region had felt the same tremor.

When we think of earthquakes in the USA, most folks usually think of California – events like the great San Francisco earthquake of 1906, the Owens Valley earthquake of 1872, or the Hayward earthquake of 1868.

In 1872, in California’s Owens Valley a particularly powerful and destructive earthquake struck. Often called the Lone Pine earthquake, it’s estimated to have been somewhere between magnitude 7.5 and 7.8. Much of the town of Lone Pine was destroyed as buildings collapsed, chimneys toppled, and the ground itself cracked open in places.   Newspaper accounts from the time give us a vivid sense of what people experienced. One report described the moment this way:

“The shock came with a deep rumbling sound, and the earth rocked so violently that people could scarcely keep their feet. Buildings swayed, chimneys fell, and citizens rushed into the streets in alarm.”

Another observer later wrote that the ground seemed to move “like waves upon the sea.”

Of course, the earthquake most people think of when California is mentioned is the great San Francisco earthquake of 1906. That disaster struck early in the morning on April 18 and devastated the city. The shaking itself caused widespread damage, but the greatest destruction came from the fires that followed. With water mains broken and fire crews struggling to respond, flames swept through neighborhood after neighborhood. By the time the disaster ended, much of San Francisco had been destroyed and hundreds of thousands of residents were left homeless.

But earthquakes aren’t limited to the west coast. Tremors have been recorded in places like Texas, Colorado, Oklahoma—and yes, even Louisiana. The Rocky Mountain states, including Montana and Wyoming, have experienced their share as well.

While California experienced many of the best-known earthquakes, other parts of the American West were not immune. A powerful quake struck along the Arizona–Mexico border in 1887, sending tremors across much of the Southwest. The Rocky Mountain region – including parts of Montana and Wyoming – has also experienced periodic seismic activity caused by geological forces deep beneath the mountains.

Even the Mississippi River Valley has a remarkable earthquake history. A series of massive earthquakes struck near New Madrid, Missouri, in 1811 and 1812. These shocks were so powerful they were felt across much of the young United States, and church bells reportedly rang in Boston more than a thousand miles away. According to the US Geological Survey, the New Madrid earthquake was 10 times large than that of the 1906 San Francisco earthquake.

During the strongest shocks, witnesses reported that the Mississippi River itself appeared to run backward for a short time as powerful waves surged upstream before the river returned to its normal flow. I blogged about that several years ago – you can find it HERE.

 

A Few Earthquake Tidbits;

  • Large earthquakes could leave dramatic marks on the land. After the 1872 Owens Valley quake, observers reported ground fissures several feet wide and stretches of earth that had shifted dramatically.
  • After major earthquakes, springs sometimes appeared in new places and wells occasionally went dry—changes that could be alarming in communities where water was vital.
  • Animals were often said to behave strangely before earthquakes. Horses and livestock sometimes became restless shortly before the shaking began.
  • Early settlers sometimes mistook earthquakes for mine explosions, thunder, or distant cannon fire.
  • Aftershocks could continue for weeks or even months, which made some residents reluctant to sleep indoors for a time.
  • Much of what we know about earthquakes in the Old West comes from newspaper accounts, letters, and diaries, since modern seismology was still in its infancy.

Hearing about the earthquake near my home today made me grateful it did such minor damage. Still, it’s fascinating to realize that people living in the Old West occasionally faced the same unsettling experience of feeling the ground move beneath their feet.

What about you? Did any of this information surprise you?  Do you have any personal experience with an earthquake you can share with us? Leave a comment to be entered in a drawing for a signed copy of any of my available books.

 

The Tattoo Culture in the Civil War

by

 

If you read the Fillies’ “It’s Yee-Haw Day” on Monday, you know that I got a tattoo…my very first (and probably my last!) in early February. My nephew owns a tattoo business in Florida. At the invitation of my son and daughter-in-law, we flew down for a long (and I might add, VERY COLD) weekend. While I was getting the tattoo, we talked about the history of the art of tattooing.

My daughter-in-law immediately got on her phone, offering information. When I heard that it was popular during the Civil War, my radar went up as I was researching interesting tidbits for my next book.

Tattoos have a long history as a means of identification in the military. In ancient Rome, mercenaries were marked with a permanent ink from acacia bark, corroded bronze and sulphuric acid to help in identifying deserters. When King Harold II was disfigured beyond recognition at the Battle of Hastings, his common-law wife was only able to recognize him based on his tattoos.

Tattoos were used to mark slaves, criminals, and gladiators, and the Latin word “stigma” was used to mean a brand, or scar–any permanent mark left on a person’s skin. When French and British traders met native people, they often recorded the markings on their bodies, instead of their names in trading logs. During the Revolutionary War, colonial sailors decorated themselves with symbols of their newborn country–the “goddess” Columbia, the face of George Washington, eagle with sheaves, or the American flag. 

“A sailor may not wear his heart upon his sleeve, but he does wear it upon his chest.”                                                                  E. Barnes

With the onset of the Civil War, these patriotic themes gained in popularity. Martin Hildebrandt, a talkative man with a crucifix inked on his back was happy to tell newspaper reporters about his unusual trade.

“During the war time I never had a moment’s idle time. I must have marked thousands of sailors and soldiers…I put the names of hundreds of soldiers on their arms or breasts, and many were recognized by these marks after being killed or wounded.” 

Tattooing can be excruciating (I can testify to that!) and in the Civil War, methods were relatively primitive and conditions less than sanitary. Hildebrandt’s tattoo method required about six #12 needles, bound together in a slanting form, dipped into India ink. The puncture of the skin was made at an angle, ensuring that the needles pricked only the surface. Colorants could be made up of ink and wet gunpowder. However, he was restricted to only two colors, blue and red.

       

“If we could only get a green to work into a wreath, the contrast would be charming, but I am afraid it can’t be done.”      M. Hildebrandt

After the tattoo was done, any excess blood and ink was washed off with water or alcohol, usually rum or brandy. Many a soldier had his name, regiment, and residence inked for identification. 

“Every regiment had its tattooers, with outfits of needles and India-ink who for a fee decorated the limbs and bodies of their comrades with flags, muskets, cannon…and patriotic emblems…It was like writing one’s own epitaph, but the custom prevented many bodies from being buried in ‘unknown’ graves.”                                           William Hinman

In addition to identification and patriotism, tattooing during the war was used to memorialize the experience of war and the lives of fellow soldiers. Much like the sailors who pioneered tattooing before them, these soldiers wanted to honor the memories of fallen comrades, to show regimental pride, and demonstrate their love for their homelands.

But beneath their clothes, many men held the marks from the war–voluntary scars to commemorate a shared trauma, claims of individuality in the face of mass death, assertions of humanity that couldn’t be taken away.

*******************A Giveway!*****************

To win a digital copy of “No Finer Dream,” comment on the following question…

Have you gotten OR would you be interested in getting a tattoo?

 

New release coming tomorrow, March 6th…

“Your journey doesn’t have to end in disappointment.”

Lila Hartley had waited for hours on the frozen train platform, a mail-order bride no one came to claim, her trunk beside her like a tombstone. The man who’d promised her marriage, a home, and a future, left her stranded two thousand miles from Boston with nothing but the clothes on her back and a heart full of shattered dreams.
Just when hope was fading, a man emerged from the white curtain of snow like an apparition, took off his coat, and changed her life.

Clay McCallister viewed every woman who had taken a chance on the frontier as the sister he’d failed…a woman who’d risked everything for the possibility of something better, much like the woman standing on the platform in the bitter cold.

Sometimes warmth doesn’t always come from fire — sometimes it comes from the heart.

Pre-Order Link

 

 

Petticoats & Pistols