Indian Territory

THE JOURNEY CONTINUES–PART 1 by Cheryl Pierson

by

Hi everyone! As a writer, I love to be able to use my imagination and come up with wonderful (I hope!) ideas for stories that are entertaining, no matter what genre I’m writing in. As a reader, I feel the same way—a reflection of the writer side of me. I want to read about characters and situations that are not cardboard “cookie-cutter” stories. I’m sure most readers feel that same way about the books they choose to spend time reading.

Since I’ve delved into trying to learn more about my ancestors (and believe me, I have not spent nearly the time on that I wish I could spend!) I’ve discovered some interesting things about people in my own family line from the past that would make great “fodder” for some very interesting tales.

Ancestry . com has a feature now called “stories”—and the stories are about people they believe are related to you! I haven’t gotten all that far on my family tree, but this story feature of theirs really makes me interested to just drop everything else and work on nothing but learning about my family of the past. These stories are put together in a way that is kind of generic, and tells about things that were of great importance to the people of that time in general.

For instance, one of their stories mentions things like, “Josie Belle Walls—your great grandmother. Your great-grandmother’s right to vote was recognized nationally with the passage of the 19th Amendment in 1920.” It goes on to give a few facts throughout the story about how many women voted, who the candidates were, and has a picture of the census page with my great-grandmother’s information on it, along with her family. Further information calls to our attention that it was indicated on the census page that she could read and write. It even tells what the weather was like at the place where she would have voted that day, Bentley, Oklahoma, in Atoka County! Some pictures are included in this story, but none of her specifically—more general pictures of people of the times, women with suffrage banners, and so on, but the stories have some good information in them that might not be gleaned elsewhere without really digging for it. At the time, there were 12 people listed living in her home—she and her husband and a passel of kids—she was 38. I wonder if she found time to go vote! I do wish there had been pictures of her as a younger woman. I only have one picture of her in her 20’s, and after that, most all the pictures of her were after she was much older. The picture below is the earliest one I have of her, and I think she was in her mid-twenties when this was taken. At that point in time, she had married, had four children, lost her husband and remarried a widower older than she who had several children. They had children together as well, for a total of seventeen kids in a “yours, mine, and ours” situation.

 

This picture is one of my great grandmother, Josie Bell Walls McLain Martin (also pictured above), with grandkids of her own. She looks absolutely worn out, doesn’t she? I wonder what hopes and dreams she had as a young girl, and I wonder what moments made her heart happy as she grew older. The grandkids from left to right are my mother, El Wanda; the current baby in the family, my mom’s (at the time) youngest sister, Betty; their sister, Opal, who is third in that line of siblings; and Mom’s just-younger sister, Joyce, with whom she was always so very close to. This picture was taken in 1930, so my mom was 8 at that time, Joyce only about 19 months behind her, and Opal around 4-5, with Betty being around 2 or so. My great grandmother Josie was born in 1882 and had her first child (my grandmother) at age 16. In this picture below, she was 48 years old.

My other great-grandmother (both of these were on my mom’s side of the family) was 53 at this same time, 1920, and only had she, her husband, and one daughter (age 19) living at home—a huge difference in family situation and age for two peers. She was born in 1867. I’ve  seen one  picture of her.  (SEE BELOW) Her name was Emily (Emma) Christiana (Ligon) Stallings—all her grandkids called her “Mammy”, and my mom has told me so many stories about her and her life. My mom was the oldest of 11 children, so she spent a lot of time with Mammy, since they lived across the street from one another as my mom was growing up. Much of the information provided in this “story” from Ancestry about both my great-grandmothers here is the same—the talk about voting, the weather, and so on. But the interesting part to me is being able to have all the facts in one place to compare the two of them side by side, since, by that time, they were both living in fairly close proximity, and not much later, both lived in the same small town.

I’ve mentioned before how my Aunt Marilyn did a lot of genealogy research, and something my sister and I still laugh about is my mom’s reaction to learning we were related to Lyndon B. Johnson. She begged my aunt to “Please don’t tell anyone, Marilyn!”  (Mom didn’t feel nearly as awful when she found out Benedict Arnold was also a past relative…)

I’m really loving learning about my ancestors because there are so many interesting ‘bits and pieces’ of their lives that I can incorporate into my writing—including a few skeletons in the closet, which I’m so excited about getting to learn more about! Next time I’ll talk about some of the men from our ancestry line –there seems to be a lot more about their escapades than the women, and I can’t wait to read what’s in their “stories” too.

By the way, there is also a feature where relatives, friends, and so on can contribute memories and stories about ancestors as well, and some of those are really fascinating, too. I do remember my great-grandmother Josie that I mentioned above. She passed when I was young, but I have pictures of her and I remember meeting her and being around her. I would love to have known her when she was young.

It’s wonderful to just think about how, in the historical stories we write, we are writing about people just like these women (and men) from our own past bloodlines. Amazing to think about, isn’t it?

Is there someone in your ancestry line that you would like to have met, or like to have been able to spend more time with in your lifetime? Tell us about it! Did any of you know your great-grandparents?  I love to hear your stories about the past, and the people who lived it.

 

LOOKING FOR THE GOOD THINGS–AND A GIVEAWAY! by Cheryl Pierson

by

When my husband Gary and I were first married, he would laughingly call me “Pollyanna” –the girl who always saw the good in every situation. Through the years, I have to admit there have been times when that quality has failed me, when things were so bad I didn’t know what we were going to do. I know we’ve all had “those” times. But in general, I’m one of those people who does try to see the good in things.

 

I think I “learned” to do that from my mom. I thought a lot about this over the last few weeks—fall makes me remember and miss my parents more than any other time of the year. One night Gary and I were talking about the things our parents had taught us, and I told him one thing my mom taught me was to look on the bright side of things.

 

I imagine she had to do a lot of that, being the oldest of eleven children in the Dustbowl days of Oklahoma—which was also during The Great Depression. Growing up, I remember how she’d comment on things that meant nothing to me…at the time.

 

“Oh, Cheryl, I saw the first robin today! That means spring is on the way,” she’d say, with a smile.

 

And? my young brain would ask. So, spring is on the way.

When spring came along, maybe she’d comment on how green the trees were, or how blue the sky was today—just look at those clouds!

Now that I’m older, I realize why these things were important and such a cause of joy to her.

Growing up dirt poor in a small house that had no insulation and very little heat, I’m sure that seeing the first robin was important because it meant those cold days and nights would soon be at an end and warm weather was soon to blow in.

 

The green of the trees meant there was enough rain to allow things to grow—something I know, as the oldest in such a large family, she was acutely aware of  since my grandfather was a hardscrabble farmer and had so many mouths to feed.

What a relief, especially here in Oklahoma, that there had been plentiful rain and things were growing well!

This was a picture I took of my hibiscus tree the kids gave me for Mother’s Day one year and its beautiful red blooms! I have to bring it in during the winters here in Oklahoma, but I’m thankful I have a place to put it and keep it hale and hearty until we can move it back outside again when spring–and that first robin–come along! The second picture is one of my two furbabies, Max and Sammy, watching a squirrel they’re thinking of chasing as he jumps from the crape myrtle to the fence. So glad to have these boys in my life!

 

The blue of the sky—can you imagine growing up in a time when you could look outside and see billowing gales of dust—and nothing else? Animals had to be put up in the barn, families had to be inside, and still, the houses were so poorly constructed there would be layers of dust on the windowsills once the dust storm had passed. So a blue sky was important—no dust, and those beautiful white clouds must have looked heavenly in her eyes.

 

Mama always found happiness in the small things—small in MY eyes.  A good meal she’d cooked for her family, getting the laundry done and put away for the week, finding a good sale on orange juice—yes, those were the days when people would look through the Sunday or Wednesday paper at the grocery store ads, make several stops to find the things at each store that were on sale, and several trips home to put the perishables away—a very different time.

It was not just the fact of the accomplishment itself, but what it meant to her from the things that had happened in her past. A good meal meant there was enough food to go around for everyone, served on a matching set of dishes. No one went to bed hungry. Laundry being done meant that everyone had clothes for a solid week—not one or two good dresses that had to be laundered over and over. Making the rounds of the different grocery stores and finding good “deals” meant she was able to provide some extras with what Dad made in the oilfield. She knew how hard he worked. She never took anything for granted.

So though I didn’t have the past that Mama had—mine was much easier in comparison—I think I learned that attitude through watching her. I’m sure there were times she wanted to just go into the bathroom and have a good cry, but instead, she looked for the good, and found it.

This is a picture I took of a gorgeous Oklahoma sunset a couple of years ago. I just loved the beautiful sky, and the way the light hits the water of the pool.

 

I think of Mama every time I see that first robin. What a gift that has been to me, in so many ways, including my writing. Part of writing a good story is thinking about our characters and WHY they act, and react, like they do. This realization about seeing the good in things has been a whole new area of enlightenment for me. I understand so many of my characters even more than I did when I wrote them—their reasoning, and their motivations.

 

Do you have an aspect to your personality that you inherited or learned from one of your parents or another family member? What is it? Do you think that these behavior patterns can be multi-generational? My mind is whirling! What do you think? Be sure to leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of one of my books–your choice! 

One of my fave pics of Mama and Daddy–taken April 9, 1991 on their 47th wedding anniversary.

 

LANDON–GUN FOR HIRE (#9) by Cheryl Pierson

Here’s one of my favorite examples of how finding the good in a terrible situation, for both Land and Lissie, came to a wonderful decision for them. This is from my book, LANDON, from the GUN FOR HIRE series. Land has fallen in love with Lissie, and she with him, though they have yet to admit it to one another. Things seem impossible from his point of view since the relationship between Lissie’s father’s late wife, Little Dove, is so entangled in a way Land doesn’t believe Lissie knows about. He must take a chance on ruining their budding relationship by telling her a huge part of his reasoning for being on this wagon train was because he had come to avenge his sister–Little Dove–by killing Lissie’s father. 

Take a look:

 

He gave her a piercing look, then led her to a large boulder where she sat down. She watched him with worry in her expression. There was really no way he could say what had to be said but to blurt out the blunt truth. He took Lissie’s hand again, then released it, half-turning away from her.

“Little Dove was my sister. Zach is my nephew.”

Silence washed over them. A soft spring breeze rustled the treetops. From far away, a coyote yipped, and another one answered.

“I know.”

****

Land turned quickly to face her, surprise in his handsome features for a moment before he veiled his expression.

“You kn—how?”

“Just from what Zach has told me. And—from your reaction when we talked about how she came to be married to my father.”

Land shook his head and gave a short laugh. “I guess I made no secret of my opinions that day.”

Lissie stood, looping an arm around his waist. “Zach—told me about your ‘friend’ who died having her baby.”

Land shook his head but remained silent.

“I wanted you to know…Little Dove and I were close. I don’t know what I would have done without her.”

“She wasn’t much older than you,” he muttered, looking out into the night woods.

“She was very dear to me.” Tears welled up in Lissie’s eyes as the memories flooded over her. “When she told me she was going to have a baby, we began to plan all sorts of grand things for him—or her.” She smiled. “We both hoped for a boy, but my father seemed to have no interest. So I became her confidant. We were more like sisters. But…I loved her so much.”

Land pulled Lissie close to him, the warmth of his body flooding through her, the support of his arms filling her with strength, as well.

“I loved her, too,” he muttered roughly. “I’m glad you had each other. When I learned what my father had done—I was sick with anger. I’d been gone—a long time. When I came home, my father…well, it took his life, in the end. The truth of what he’d done hit him in the face once he’d sobered up. But by then, it was too late. Little Dove had been lost. And it had been three years. The alcohol had numbed his brain for so long…”

His voice trailed away, and Lissie looked up into his face. She took his hand, careful of the bruised and battered knuckles.

“What happened to him, Land?” She carefully examined his torn flesh. He glanced at her, just as she brought his knuckles to her lips and kissed them.

“He died. Sank into the bottle and never came out.” He turned toward her. “Little Dove was always his favorite,” he said with a faint smile. “She was so full of life and the love of adventure—and he had a real soft spot for her. When he realized she was gone forever, he gave up.

“I told him I was going after her. I would find her—but she’d been gone so long by the then that he didn’t have faith I could find her and bring her home.”

“What about your mother?”

“My mother…she was stronger than he was. She had the others—my brothers and other sister—to live for. But losing Little Dove took a hard toll on her, too, along with my father’s love for drink—and then, his death.”

They were silent a moment, then Land said, “I want to do this right between us, Alissa.”

Her heart jumped at his use of her proper name, the formal seriousness of his tone. She nodded, not looking at him. Sometimes, the hardest things were easier to say in the darkness, without looking—

It was the way her mother had spoken to Lissie of her own impending death…the only way Lissie—or her genteel mother, she suspected—could have borne to have that conversation at all.

But sometimes, speaking of the good things that were dear to a person’s heart were best spoken of like this, as well.

“We will do it right, Land,” she promised him. And, before she thought, she raised her eyes to his in the dim, silver-filtered moonlight and the soft, far-away gold cast by the lantern.

It seemed the silver and gold came together around them to enfold them in a magical velvet enclosure of their own, where there was nothing but the two of them—no fears, no worries, and no sorrows.

But Lissie knew it wasn’t truly that way—it was only an illusion. She already understood the trials and hardships they would face—through her father had sloughed off much of what others taunted him with, not only having married a “squaw” but also that she was so much younger.

“It won’t be easy.” Land’s voice was harsh.

“You won’t find a quitter in me.” Lissie raised her chin. “I’ve heard and seen everything, I think. When my father was alive, he thought nothing of parading Little Dove and me through town…letting people believe we were—for sale.” She gave a short laugh.

“I can’t tell you how many times we were ‘saved’ at the last second, complete with witnesses—so that dear Papa could be paid off and not press charges.”

Land swore. “Did he ever let it go…too far?”

Lissie smiled faintly. “No. But Little Dove and I were so scared—”

“He was a monster!” Land turned away from her furiously.

“Yes,” she agreed. “But for now, it’s important that Zach think well of him. As well as possible,” she amended quickly. “He and Papa were never close.”

Land took a deep breath. “For now,” he agreed. “But—what about you and me? Seeing the things you’ve seen, and knowing what you’ll experience—are you certain I’m what you want? That’s only a part of what I was talking about. You could go on alone and get your homestead set up on your claim. There’ll be plenty of men—”

“I only want one man—you.”

He watched her in silence.

“I’ve never been more certain of anything,” she whispered.

He took a step toward her, pulling her into his arms once more. “I don’t ever want you to regret marrying me.”

Tears blurred her vision, but she smiled as she lifted her head. “I don’t believe you’ve asked me—”

His lips came across hers, hot, demanding, the best proposal she could ever have hoped for.

 

CHERYL’S AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE (CLICK HERE)

LOVE LETTERS AND MAIL-ORDER BRIDES–by CHERYL PIERSON

by

Ah, those wonderful love letters! Don’t we love reading them? I must admit I have an affinity for love letters because of the insights they give us into the past, and the people who lived then.

Love letters are something I’ve been thinking about a lot. Probably because of the time of year–fall always makes me get nostalgic–but also because, as authors, we have to use letters and notes in our writing to “get the message” across that perhaps our characters might not be able to speak aloud.

 

My hubby is, like many men, not sentimental. He wouldn’t care if I never got him another Valentine’s Day or anniversary card, but they mean a lot to me—so we exchange them every year. I suspect that, through the years past right down to the present, most men didn’t and don’t make flowery love speeches from their hearts, or even write their innermost thoughts and feelings in cards and letters.

 

One of the most poignant love letters I know of is the famous letter written by Union Army Major Sullivan Ballou, just before the First Battle of Bull Run in 1861 where he died at the age of 32. Married only 6 years, he left behind two small sons and his wife, Sarah. The letter he wrote to Sarah days before he was killed is one that speaks poignantly of his guilt at having to choose between his duty to country and duty to family. Ken Burns used a shortened version of the letter in his series, The Civil War—and its contents are unforgettable, and so powerful it brings tears to my eyes every time I read it.

 

 

SULLIVAN BALLOU

In part, it reads:

Sarah, my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me to you with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly on with all these chains to the battlefield.

The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when God willing, we might still have lived and loved together and seen our sons grow up to honorable manhood around us. I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me—perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar—that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battlefield, it will whisper your name.

I had to come up with a love letter, of sorts, for my 2017 novel, Sabrina, part of the 4-book set entitled MAIL-ORDER BRIDES FOR SALE: THE REMINGTON SISTERS. The Remington Sisters set is out of print now, but I’m working on getting SABRINA published as a stand-alone story! My letter was nothing to beautiful as this one penned by a soldier marching to his inevitable death, but a letter that had to convince my Sabrina to leave her wealthy lifestyle in Philadelphia and come West to Indian Territory!

Sabrina and her three older sisters (Lola, written by Celia Yeary; Belle, written by Jacquie Rogers; Lizzy, written by Livia J. Washburn; and Sabrina, my character) have to have mail-order arrangements in order to get out of the fix they’re in with a step-father who plans to sell them to the highest bidder—and they don’t have much time to do it. When Sabrina receives two proposals on the same day, she counts her lucky stars that she’s able to compare the two letters and has a choice between the two men who have written her—something many women of the day did not have.

She’s safely with the man she’s chosen now, Cameron Fraser, but she’s remembering the day she received the letters and why she made the decision she did. Take a look:

She’d answered ads from both Cameron Fraser and David Mason. Ironically, she’d received offers from both men on the same day. That had been a blessing, as she was able to compare their responses immediately.

Mr. Mason had written one page, in sprawling wide script.

“I have need of a wife to help me raise my four children I was left with after my sainted Amelia passed on last year. Your help will be appreciated. And I will do right by you. I hope you are a willing worker and a good cook. Can you make good cornbread? That is a must in our home…”

She’d opened Mr. Mason’s letter first, and tucked it back into the envelope quickly. She’d hoped she’d managed to keep the revulsion from her face when her oldest sister, Lola, had come hurrying through the door. Lola was five years older, and Sabrina could never manage to keep a secret from her, no matter how she tried.

“Well?” Lola had asked, pinning Sabrina with “the look” that Sabrina dreaded.

“I haven’t read them,” Sabrina said defiantly.

“Bree. You know we have to get out of here—the sooner the better. We don’t have much time.”

Here’s the difference, and why she chose Cam. He wanted her for more than making cornbread!

Lola had turned and left the room, closing the door behind her. That’s how Sabrina knew her oldest sister was angry—or hurt. Maybe both.

She’d sighed, and begun to open the letter from Mr. Cameron Fraser. And before she’d read the entire first page of his two-page missive, she knew her decision was made.

Dear Miss Remington,

Thank you for your very kind response to the ad I placed for a bride. I felt out of place to do such a thing, but your answer made me glad I did so, after all.

I know that Indian Territory may seem uncivilized and wild to a well-bred lady such as yourself, who has grown up in the cultured, genteel society of the East, but I assure you, I will do everything in my power to welcome you. In no time at all, I hope you’ll come to think of the Territory as your home.

My family owns a fairly large cattle ranch in Indian Territory. I wanted to assure you that, although the ranch itself is somewhat isolated, we are close enough to Briartown to travel there frequently for supplies.

You will be safe here, Miss Remington, and cherished. You will be well-treated, and I promise you here and now, I will never raise a hand to you.

If it is your will, and I hope it will be, I am willing to be a good and loving father to any children we may have—and a good and loving husband to you.

The sky here is the bluest you’ve ever seen. The water is the freshest and coldest. And I hope you will come to love the open range as much as we Frasers do.

I await your arrival in Ft. Smith. I will meet you there, where we’ll be legally married in a civil ceremony before we travel together to the ranch. Enclosed, you will find a financial draft for your passage and travel expenses.

Sincerely,

Cameron James Fraser

Something about the underlying feeling of the words Cam had written spoke to Sabrina. That he’d taken time to describe—even briefly—how he felt about his ranch made her know that he cared about her feelings—not just about what skills she might bring to the marriage table.

I see it, too, don’t you? He loves the land and his life, and wants her to share it with him. I wonder if women who were forced to take this route looked for these types of things—I know I would. And Sabrina is a bit of an adventurer, so going to Indian Territory would not hold her back. Adventure awaited!

MEANWHILE–here’s a song about this very topic, from one of my favorite musicians, MARK KNOPFLER. This is called Prairie Wedding. Fingers crossed the video will work–it’s an oldie but a goodie, and tells such a touching story in just a few verses.

Have you ever received a love letter that meant the world to you? I’ve had a few in my lifetime, and they’re tucked away in my desk and my heart! If you would like to share, we’d love to hear about your love letters!

I’m giving away a digital copy of my latest release for the GUN FOR HIRE series, LANDON, to one lucky commenter! Be sure to leave a comment today for a chance to win!

CHERYL’S AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE

 

INDIAN TERRITORY & THE ALLOTMENT PROCESS–AND A GIVEAWAY! by Kristy McCaffrey

by

Federal Indian policy between 1870 and 1900 focused on breaking up reservations and granting allotments to individual Native Americans. In 1887, the U.S. Congress passed the Dawes Act, also known as the General Allotment Act. This law authorized the President to break up reservation land into small allotments. At that time, several tribes were exempt, including the Cherokees, Choctaws, and Chickasaws. However, in 1893 President Cleveland appointed the Dawes Commission to negotiate with the Five Civilized Tribes—the Cherokees, Creeks, Choctaws, Chickasaws, and Seminoles—to begin dividing their lands and dismantling their governments.

The purpose of the Dawes Act, and subsequent extensions, was to protect American Indian property rights, particularly during the land rushes of the 1890s that occurred in the Twin Territories, which encompassed Oklahoma and Indian Territories. But the result often did more harm than good. Some allotted land was unsuitable for farming, and those individuals who did want to take up agriculture often couldn’t afford to invest in the tools, animals, seed, and other supplies needed to begin.

To protect tribal members from land speculators, the government held most of the allotted land in trust, with a stipulation that it couldn’t be sold for twenty-five years. Since tribal land far surpassed the acreage needed for allotments, the government reserved the right to sell the “surplus” to white settlers. Many Indians leased their allotments and moved to urban areas where they later lost touch with tribal ways.

In 1896, the Dawes Commission received congressional approval to compile rolls of tribal members in the Five Nations who would be eligible to receive allotments, allowing it to add individuals who maintained they had not been included on the various tribal census rolls. The commission thus effectively undermined the power of the tribes to determine their own membership and, in the case of the Choctaw and Chickasaw, hastened extensive court action and legal battles over rights to be enrolled. The Choctaw were particularly concerned that large numbers of individuals claiming to be Choctaw from Mississippi came forward to lay claims, thus complicating and delaying the final allotment process.

It wasn’t until 1897 that the commission successfully concluded an allotment agreement with the Choctaw and Chickasaw tribes. The Atoka Agreement called for an equitable distribution of the tribal land base among the members, except for lands set aside for schools and townsites and land reserved because of coal and asphalt deposits. Homesteads of 160 acres would be inalienable for a period of twenty-one years, and the surplus land could be sold, one-fourth in the first year, one-half in the second year, and the remainder by the fifth year after allotment.

In my new novel, The Swan, a group of women must stand against those who would take advantage of Chickasaw orphans and their allotments. The Swan is Book 11 in my Wings of the West series, but it can be read as a standalone.

 

Twin Territories

November 1899

Dr. Anna Ryan has been spurned by the Dallas medical community for the simple reason of being a woman. Wanting more than a rural practice alongside her mother, also a doctor, Anna accepts an invitation from a mentor to join a private hospital for disabled children in Oklahoma City. But when she falls in with a band of women attempting to protect the rights of Chickasaw orphans, she’ll need more than her medical training to survive.

Malcolm Hardy has skirted the line between lawlessness and justice since escaping the mean streak of his father and his no-good half-siblings a decade ago. In Oklahoma Territory he created enough distance from his family name to find a quiet purpose to his days. But then Anna Ryan walks back into his life, and his hard-won peace is in jeopardy.

The last time Malcolm saw Anna, she had been a determined girl he couldn’t help but admire. Now she was a compelling woman searching for answers that could lead straight to him. But one thing was clear—Anna’s life path was on a trajectory for the remarkable while Malcolm’s was not. Surrendering to temptation would only end in heartbreak.

The Swan is an emotional story of a woman finding her true calling and a hero moving forward after a difficult past. It has light steam and a heartfelt and poignant ending.

Read Chapter One and find vendor links at Kristy’s website.

The Swan is based on the idea of The Magnificent Seven, but instead of men, what if the seven were women?

Giveaway

One commenter will win an eBook of THE NIGHTHAWK, Wings of the West Book 10. What is your favorite western movie? Be sure to comment for a chance to WIN!

 

U.S. Deputy Marshal Benton McKay is undercover tracking the notorious train robbing Weaver gang when he’s forced to work with reporter Sophie Ryan.

 

Kristy McCaffrey writes award-winning historical western romances with grit and emotion, along with contemporary adventure stories packed with smoldering romance and spine-tingling suspense. Her work is filled with compelling heroes, determined heroines, and her trademark mysticism. She lives in the desert north of Phoenix with her husband and rescue bulldog, Jeb. Learn more about her books at her website, Facebook, Instagram, and TikTok.

 

Graphics courtesy of Deposit Photos. Book covers by Earthly Charms.

 

SHE BELONGS IN MY WORLD — A New Release & Sale

by

Howdy!  Howdy!

Hope your 4th of July was wonderful, full of fireworks, good food and activities with good friends.  My husband and I had special hamburgers (a good recipe) and fries and watched the movie 1776, a musical.  Two cute little puppies were cuddled up with us and the movie was very good and very funny in places, too.  Somewhat accurate, too, I think.

Recently, I had an mp4 video (59 seconds) made for the book.  Thought I’d share it with you!

Hope you enjoyed!

Because this is a new release, the book has not been on sale except for now.  For two days only, the book will be on sale for $.99 and it’s also available on KindleUnlimited.

Here is an excerpt of the book.  This scene occurs about halfway through the story.  Otahki (O-tah-ki) is Liliann’s Blackfeet name, meaning Ermine Woman.  The hero, First Rider, and two of his friends are intent on enacting a scout’s revenge upon the man, Ernest, (Liliann’s husband) who tried to kill her, but she managed to escape.  They have been following him as he is fleeing toward the gold fields of Montana and have been systematically working on him, taking little things from his camp that he needs to survive, but making it appear he left them in his last camp.  So, here we go.

EXCERPT, She Belongs In My World

 

It happened after a week and a half out on the trail.  Ernest became dangerously careless, and while bathing in the river, he left his clothes on a large rock, his boots next to it.  He had also left his rifle behind, propped up next to the rock.  Also, the guns he usually wore about his waist were buried beneath the wad of his clothing.

It was an open-ended invitation to gain their next advantage over him.  Yet, to sneak into camp and take his guns and his rifle was risky at best because, as careless as Ernest was, if he discovered First Rider and his friends in the act of taking away his only means of defense, he could become a wild man…and there was the possibility he could kill one or more of them with his knives if he had retained them on his person as he bathed.

Also, though the light from the sunset was low in the western sky, there was still enough of it that could outline a scout.

But still, here was the chance they had been waiting for: the means to disarm Ernest.  The opportunity could not be dismissed.

Now they just needed to determine which one of the three scouts would be the one to accomplish the task.

“I will go,” signed First Rider at once, causing Liliann to gasp.  First Rider instantly placed a finger to his lips, asking for her silence.

Then, not being able to use words nor even to whisper, Liliann began to use her eyes to plead with her husband to reconsider and to remain safely here in camp.  But, when First Rider ignored her, she reverted to sign and said, “No, do not do it!  Do not take on such a duty!  It is too dangerous!  What will Ernest do to thee if he sees thee?”

First Rider frowned at her, then signed, “Do I appear to you to be a coward?”

“No!” she responded in sign.  “I just want thee to be safe and remain alive!”

“What is a life worth without some risk?” he countered in sign.  “Besides, this is my duty to perform.  You are my woman.  This man abused you and would have killed you had you not escaped.  I will allow no other to do what is mine alone to do.”

“But—”

“Come here,” he interrupted.

While she scooted around their small, smokeless fire toward him, both Stands Strong and Red Fox appeared to have suddenly found other chores to do in camp, and they silently crept away from the council.

Sitting down in front of First Rider, her knees once more touching his, he reached out to take her hand within one of his own while he signed his thoughts with his other and revealed, “This is my duty.  This I will do.  But, you might help me by praying to the Creator to guide my path.”

“Of course I will pray.  But—”

“It will go well, I think.”

Gazing up at him, she bit her lip before throwing herself into his arms, and she whispered in his ear, “If I cannot keep thee here with me, then I shall watch thee from this place where I sit.”

“Soka’pii.  And, you will do nothing to interfere,” he added in a murmur.  “Promise.”

“How can thou be tryin’ to force me to make such a promise?”

“If you do not give this vow to me,” he signed, “I will not allow you to watch.”

“Not allow?  Not possible.  I will sit here and look at thee.  Just try to stop me,” she said, back talking to him in sign.

“Then, you must promise you will not interfere.”

Leaning forward, she again whispered in his ear, “Well, I be not makin’ any other promise but this: I will watch thee.”

She heard his slight chuckle before he whispered, “A fireball…I have as…woman mine.  A fireball.”

She frowned at him.

“It…good…not bad.  Heap much good.”

Liliann shook her head, yet couldn’t help smiling because of his very bad English, knowing it was deliberately done.

“But,” he signed, setting her away from him, “if not promise, I will set one of my friends to watch you and put a gag over your mouth if you try to shout out a warning to me.”

“Thou would not dare to do it!” she whispered.

“I would,” he muttered softly.

“Oh!” she moaned softly.  “How be I to help thee if thou will not let me?”

“By praying,” he whispered.  Then he repeated, “By praying.”

“I will be doin’ it, no mistake, but don’t thou see?” she asked under her breath.  “Me own self needs to go with thee.  Does thou forget the very reason I be here?  My dream?”

He shook his head.

“Then thou must know this: where thou goes, I must be goin’, too.  What thou faces, then I shall face it with thee.  If I be needin’ to share thy life—and I do—then if thou dies in doin’ justice, then I will be with thee, dyin’ alongside of thee.”

As he sat before her, he appeared to be stunned and he did nothing more than stare at her.  At some length, he reached out to touch her face with the back of his fingers.  Then, at last, he signed, “My brave, brave woman.  I did not realize what sharing my life with you truly meant to you.  Come with me, then.  I shall not stop you from showing me and my friends, also, how courageous you truly are.”

Upon seeing his signs, she threw herself suddenly into his arms, almost knocking him backward.  And, her voice shook as she whispered, “Thou shall not regret this.  I promise I will be doin’ as thou say.  I promise.”

And, as he took her into his arms, she cried, there against his shoulder.

****

Slowly, slowly, she belly crawled behind First Rider, having been warned that she was not to let so much as the crunch of a leaf sound beneath her.  Therefore, she was committed to move forward, but very, very slowly.

More important it was, First Rider had said, to take the weapons without detection.  And, because any noise might alert Ernest to their plot, they each one carefully determined where to place their arms and legs as they slowly pushed forward, one elbow after another.  To her rear crawled Stands Strong and behind him, Red Fox, both of them slinking along on elbows and belly, also.  The plan was simple: First Rider was to take one weapon and would then pass it to her; she was to send it along to Stands Strong, and he would give it to Red Fox, who would later distribute the weapons to the three of them.

It had been going well until, as though he suspected he was being watched, Ernest looked over to where he had left his clothing and guns.  Immediately, all four scouts—including Liliann—froze in place, and she didn’t dare to even breathe.

Ernest’s scrutiny seemed to go on and on, and Liliann knew she had to take a breath without movement and without noise.  In doing so, she shut her eyes, forcing herself to think of nothing.

However, she found First Rider was gently nudging her, and, looking up, she saw he was passing Ernest’s rifle to her, the last of his weapons.  Glancing quickly toward the river, she was shocked to discover she could not see Ernest.

There was a tap on her leg, and, glancing over her shoulder using as little movement as possible, she discovered Stands Strong was slowly, but methodically, inching back.  Was something wrong?

Looking forward, she saw First Rider had crawled backward until he was almost parallel with her.  Oh dear.  Trouble.

She and First Rider had no more than slinked in behind a bush when he placed his arm around her waist, forcing her into a full-bodied position on the ground.  Imitating First Rider, she did nothing but smell the earthy scent of the ground beneath her.

Without lifting her head but a little, she looked up through the bushes and gazed at a completely nude Ernest as he approached the rock where he had left his clothing.  But, he didn’t seem to notice the ground around the rock, which was this moment devoid of his weapons.  Instead, he reached into a pocket of his pants and pulled out a tiny box, and upon opening it, he reached in, took a bit of powder, and placing some of the snuff into his nostrils, he inhaled deeply.

For a moment, he turned his back on the four scouts, and she watched his shoulders lift and sink as he took in several breaths.  Then, as if making a decision, he walked barefoot across the sand which slanted gradually down to the river, and, wading in waist deep, he took a dive into the gentle waves.

At once, First Rider signaled to her to back up, slowly, slowly, inch by careful inch, until at last they reached the shelter of the pines and the surrounding red and black willows lining the shore.  Then, rising up into a crouching position, they stepped as noiselessly as possible back to their own camp, protected as it was with the surrounding pines.

As soon as they entered their tiny shelter and sat down in a circle, Red Fox asked in sign, “Did you get all his guns?”

“Yes,” First Rider signed.  “Even his knives scattered there.”

Red Fox nodded.

“And, now what does thou do?” asked Liliann silently in sign.

“‘Thou will wait,” First Rider replied quietly, gesturing toward his friends and her.

“Does thou include thee in those who must wait?” she asked in sign.

First Rider shrugged, casually signing, “There is more I would like to take from this man.”

“Oh?” she asked, slanting him a frown.

Upon looking around their circle, Liliann noticed Stands Strong was smiling, though faintly.  However, he didn’t utter a sound.  But then, as he glanced at the three of them, Stands Strong reached around behind himself before bringing his hands back to the front to show his arms to be filled with…clothing—a white man’s shirt, pants and boots.  Stands Strong smiled as he murmured, “No need to go back, Almost-cousin.  I knew you would want these.  His disgrace would not be complete without him being properly….undressed.”  Stands Strong grinned.

First Rider smiled, then signed, “You are a better scout than I.  I did not even see you return there.”

As Stands Strong nodded his head, a masculine scream ripped through the air, followed by the heated words, “Who are you?  Where are you?  What do you want from me?  Bring me back my clothing…my weapons or I’ll…I’ll…”

No one answered.  No one even smiled.

“I’ll find you!” yelled Ernest.  “I swear I’ll find you, and when I do I’ll kill you!”

Still no one answered.

Then, gradually, First Rider came up to his knees and crawled toward the opening of their shelter, Liliann following at his heels.  Slowly, he turned back and signed, “No, you stay here.”

“But, I thought I be goin’ with thee.  Did we not already talk about this?”

“Too dangerous.”

“Thou will not be stoppin’ me.”

Shaking his head, First Rider nonetheless grinned at her and signed to her, “If you must come, stay behind me.”

“Good.  I will be doin’ it.”

****

Well, that’s all for today.  As I mentioned above, the book is on sale for $.99 at Amazon and is also on Kindle Unlimited.

If you would like to review the book, just message me at karenkay.author@startmail.com

Here is the Amazon link to the book:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FBPKBXBZ?tag=pettpist-20

 

HOW LONG WILL WE BE REMEMBERED?– AND A GIVEAWAY!–by CHERYL PIERSON

by

I learned a new word thanks to a dear friend of mine, Sharon Cunningham. She posted on Facebook about the word, “saeculum”—which was one that I’d never heard of. I didn’t even know there was an actual word for this “event” or “circumstance.”

Saeculum means the period of time from when an event occurred until all people who had an actual memory of the event have died. The example she used was World War I. The saeculum for that war is over.

It can also be applied to people. (Something else I never thought about.) A person’s saeculum doesn’t end until all people who have a clear memory of knowing that person are gone. So even though a person has died, their saeculum will live for another two or three generations!

Isn’t this amazing? And comforting, somehow. Yes, eventually our saeculum will be over, but what amazes me, and comforts me at the same time, is knowing there is a word—an actual TERM—for the idea of this memory of an event or person.

When you think about it, knowing that someone has created a word to define this period of time is important, because it defines it and gives it meaning—not just some nebulous “I remember Mama” type idea that is passed down. It means, I DO REMEMBER MAMA. I remember how Mama used to sing, I remember how Mama used to cook, how her palm felt on my forehead in the night when she came to check on me. I remember “that” look when she was upset with me, and I remember how she cried when she learned her dad, my grandfather, had died.

 

Valentine’s Day 1965, Mom, my sister Karen, me, and my oldest sister, Annette
Nov. 1960–my sisters, Karen and Annette cutting up in the living room
Sept. 1966–my mom and dad together
 Dec. 1965–my mom wearing the hula skirt my sister Annette brought me from Hawaii for Christmas
April 1960–my grandmother (mom’s mother), a not-quite-3-year-old me, and my sister Annette
January 1960–Mom’s 38th birthday

I remember Mama the way I knew her. And when we talk to other members of the family who knew and remembered her, we learn many other facets about her personality and things about her as a person we would never have known otherwise. It’s this way with every person we know!

But let’s take it one step further: I remember family. My own, of course—two sisters, Mama and Daddy. But what about extended family? Sometimes we tend to just “move on” in our lives and not dwell on memories of long ago because somehow, they don’t seem important to us. But now that there is a word that defines us in relationship to those memories, doesn’t it seem a little more important that we remember those long-ago times? Soon, there will be no one to remember, and the saeculum for our entire family will be gone.

A group of my cousins at a family reunion

Oddly enough, I remember what I thought as a child at family get-togethers—the excitement of seeing my cousins, of taking a trip to visit everyone, of staying up late and having a bit more freedom since I had grandparents at both ends of the small town where both sides of my family had many members living—and I felt special because of that. I was the only one of my cousins who had THAT! So we always had somewhere to walk to when they were with me—to one pair of grandparents’ house or the other.

As an adult, I think back on those simpler times and wonder what else was going on in the “adult world”—sisters, brothers, in-laws all gathering with their children and meal preparation for so many people—my mother was the oldest of eleven children!

My mother, El Wanda Stallings Moss, and my aunt (my dad’s sister) JoAnne Moss Jackson

Two unforgettable women!

Everyone tried to come home to Bryan County during Christmas and/or Thanksgiving. Such an exciting time, but for the adults…tiring and maybe stressful? If so, I don’t remember ever seeing that side of anyone.

 

My mom and dad as newlyweds in 1944–El Wanda Stallings Moss and Frederic Marion Moss–around 22 years old

So, maybe that’s why I think writing is so important. My mom always said she wanted to write down her life story, but “life” kept getting in the way and it never happened. When she ended up with Alzheimer’s, the time for writing down anything was over. Though the written word doesn’t add to a person’s saeculum, it does at least two things for those left behind: It helps preserve the stories and memories the deceased person has talked about before they passed, and it gives future generations a glimpse into their ancestors’ lives, thoughts, beliefs, and dreams.

This is my great-grandmother, “Mammy” (Emma Christi Anna Ligon Stallings)–my mother’s dad’s mother. I never knew her, but I felt like I did from the stories Mom told me about her. She was born not long after the Civil War ended, and regaled my mother with stories of her growing up years. I wish I had listened better when Mom tried to tell me about her!

We die, and eventually are forgotten by the world. Events happen that were, at the time,  life-changing, world- altering, such as wars, rampant disease, and tragedies of other kinds. These, though horrific at the time, will eventually be relegated to the tomes of the historical past…and forgotten…by many. There is nothing to stop it. All saeculums will be over for individual people and for events. And they will all become history.

What we can leave behind for others is our pictures, the written word of who we are and what we believe, and if we have a particular talent or craft, pieces of that—carvings, quilts, beautiful artwork or writings, creations of so many kinds.

A painting my mom did many years ago of an old barn in a snowstorm. Sorry it’s so small! Couldn’t make it bigger without making it blurry.

Our saeculum is fragile, and fleeting. So for 2025, my one and only resolution is to try to keep some kind of journal for my children, or for anyone who might be interested in the future. I want to write about my childhood, just the regular every-day things we did, the heat of the Oklahoma summer nights, the fireflies that lit up those nights until we knew we had to go home or get in trouble! The way the house creaked, and how the attic fan sounded like a freight train as it brought in that blessed cooler air during those same hot summer nights. So many memories of “nothing special”—just the business of living.  I want to write about the way life was then—because it will never be that way again, for better or worse.

My best friend, Jane Carroll, and me, on a fall day in the sandbox. I was about 8, and Jane was a year older. We moved in just down the street from one another during the same week of 1963! Jane is gone now, but I still love her and miss her.

Will anyone give a hoot? Maybe not. But I will know I’ve done what I could do if anyone DOES care. I’m not sure Laura Ingalls Wilder thought anyone would care about her stories—but look at what a glimpse into the past they have provided for so many generations! I’m no Laura Ingalls Wilder. My journals won’t begin to make the impression on the world that hers did. But you never know who might read them and think, “I wish I had known her!” (Even after my saeculum is over!)

Me, at age three.

Do you have anything you would like to leave to future generations to remember you by? This fascinates me!

Today, I’m giving away a PRINT OR DIGITAL COPY of NOELLE’S CHRISTMAS WISH–book 5 of the Petticoats & Pistols Christmas Stocking Sweethearts series to one lucky commenter! Thanks to each and every one of you for being a part of PETTICOATS & PISTOLS!

 

CLICK HERE TO PURCHASE NOELLE’S CHRISTMAS WISH

Click here to view the entire series on Amazon

 

Order your copy of LOVE UNDER FIRE today!

 

A MARSHAL FOR CALLIE–KINDLE LINK: https://tinyurl.com/yn85vnkk

A MARSHAL FOR CALLIE–PAPERBACK LINK: https://tinyurl.com/mryt2fwf

 

Thanks for stopping by today! Be sure to leave your contact info along with your comment in case you win!

CHERYL’S AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE:  https://tinyurl.com/2k7xeddt

Christmas Stocking Sweethearts! Cheryl Pierson

by

 

Hi everyone! I’m so glad to be a part of the Christmas Stocking Sweethearts authors, and I can’t wait to tell you a little bit about my story, NOELLE’S CHRISTMAS WISH. It’s a bit longer than most of the others in this series, but I have to tell you, once I got caught up in Noelle’s life and all that was happening to her, I just had to write it the length it needed to be! I’ve often thought how hard it would be to just pick up from somewhere you’d lived most of your life and leave it–I only had to do that one time, the summer before my senior year in high school when my dad got transferred from Oklahoma to West Virginia.

Noelle is a little older than I was when this happened to her, but I love how, though she was dreading the changes she’d go through, things turned out better than she could have ever expected–with a few hiccups along the way, of course!

Here’s the blurb for you to get a better idea of what is going on in Noelle’s life, and her possibility for a very happy ending!

Her wish is to find lasting love…

He’s looking for a new future…

Can a Christmas journey bring a miracle to both?

When her life is turned upside down by her aunt’s death, beautiful Noelle Cutler must leave Texas for Indian Territory, to live in her family-owned cattle ranch dynasty with a relative she barely knows. Noelle’s Christmas wish as she boards the stagecoach is something she’s yearned for the past several years. Now, with an uncertain world unfolding for her, would it be so much to wish for her very own true love this Christmas?

Texas Ranger Kellan Montgomery has a few wishes of his own. Traveling home to Indian Territory, he dreads what awaits him. An unplanned dinner with Noelle the night before they become fellow passengers aboard the northbound train leaves him imagining a different kind of future—one that’s completely opposite from the solitary life of a lawman.

But their newfound romance may come to a deadly end as two ruthless outlaws board the train—men Kellan put in prison. As Kellan and Noelle masquerade as a newlywed couple, their plan goes awry as the train is taken over by a gang of renegades. Danger explodes in a life-or-death situation, and their perilous deception becomes the catalyst for the flames of love to ignite in their desperate bid for survival.

But love is the only thing on Noelle’s Christmas wish list—and she is determined to make this dream come true for the future she envisions. Now that love has finally come, it’s up to her to make her own longing a reality. Can the magic of Christmas bring a miracle to two lonely people in these most unlikely circumstances?

 

CLICK HERE TO PURCHASE NOELLE’S CHRISTMAS WISH

Click here to view the entire series on Amazon

Yes, we know. It’s that time of year when we sometimes feel less kind than we should. 

Re-write the sentence in red to something less naughty and more nice.  For example:

NAUGHTY:  “Grandma’s eggnog is too thick and chunky.”

NICE: “Isn’t it wonderful Grandma is still with us to make her eggnog?”

THERE’S NOTHING BUT CHRISTMAS MOVIES ON TV! 

You might win this ornament from me–plus a backlist book of your choice!

I chose this ornament as my prize giveaway because it looks just like the piano I learned

to play on when I was growing up.

 

All entries will be eligible for our oh-so-beautiful Grand Prize, too!

Winners announced Sunday, December 15!

(USA Winners only, please.)

In the event the piano ornament becomes unavailable, we will happily make a substitute.

SCHOOL DAYS–THEN AND NOW–by Cheryl Pierson

by

I have always loved going to school. Even now, when I walk into WalMart or Target and the school supplies are displayed (in JULY!) I have to stop and look at them. My husband laughs at me, but I just keep on picking up post-it notes and pencils, thinking “I will need these at some point…”

Growing up in the 60’s, our school supply lists were not long at all in elementary school. A “Big Chief” tablet, one of those HUGE pencils, paste in a jar (with a brush built into the lid!), a box of crayons, and a pair of “school scissors” and a wooden ruler. That was it. By the time my kids started school in the 90’s—all that had changed. After shopping for school supplies for only two children, I wondered how families with several kids could afford for them to even go to school—and that wasn’t counting back-to-school clothing.

 

 

 

ONE ROOM SCHOOLHOUSE IN BLANCHARD, OK, 1910

BLOG ONE ROOM SCHOOLHOUSE IN BLANCHARD-1910

My mom spoke of her school days just shortly after Indian Territory became the state of Oklahoma. That happened in 1907. She was born in 1922, and started school when she was only 5. She attended a one-room school house in Albany, a very small southeastern Oklahoma town. With the Depression on the way, and the Dust Bowl days looming, she spoke of the poverty of everyone she knew. She was the eldest of eleven children. Food was scarce. School supplies were almost nonexistent. I imagine that was why she took such pleasure in buying Big Chief tablets and crayons for me.

 

 

SEQUOYAH ORPHANS TRAINING SCHOOL, 1920 (near Tahlequah, OK, Cherokee Capital)

BLOG-SEQUOYAH ORPHANS TRAINING SCHOOL (Tahlequah) 1920

Education is so important. Thinking back, I’ve included it in many of the stories I’ve written, and I always love to see it included in the stories I read, as well. I’m working on a story right now that includes a school teacher who is being forced to leave her home, her job and everything familiar to her! I just hate it for her, because she loves her students. (Don’t worry, it will all work out in the end!)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Young boys pose during recess. This picture was taken at Newcastle, Oklahoma, in 1914.

BLOG-Boys at school in Newcastle-1914

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is interesting. It’s the exam that students had to pass in order to graduate from 8th grade. This one came from Salina, Kansas, and is dated 1895. Students could take the exam in 7th grade and if they didn’t pass, could have another chance in 8th grade to re-take it. I don’t think I could pass this even now! Take a look!

EXAMINATION GRADUATION QUESTIONS OF SALINA COUNTY, KANSAS April 13, 1895 J.W. Armstrong, County Superintendent.

Examinations at Salina, New Cambria, Gypsum City, Assaria, Falun, Bavaria, and District No. 74 (in Glendale Twp.)

Reading and Penmanship. – The Examination will be oral, and the Penmanship of Applicants will be graded from the manuscripts

Grammar (Time, one hour)

  1. Give nine rules for the use of Capital Letters.
  2.  Name the Parts of Speech and define those that have no modifications.
  3.  Define Verse, Stanza and Paragraph.
  4.  What are the Principal Parts of a verb? Give Principal Parts of do, lie, lay and run.
  5.  Define Case, Illustrate each Case.
  6.  What is Punctuation? Give rules for principal marks of Punctuation.
  7. Write a composition of about 150 words and show therein that you understand the practical use of the rules of grammar.

Arithmetic (Time, 1.25 hours)

  1. Name and define the Fundamental Rules of Arithmetic.
  2.  A wagon box is 2 ft. deep, 10 feet long, and 3 ft. wide. How many bushels of wheat will it hold?
  3.  If a load of wheat weighs 3942 lbs., what is it worth at 50 cts. per bu, deducting 1050 lbs. for tare?
  4.  District No. 33 has a valuation of $35,000. What is the necessary levy to carry on a school seven months at $50 per month, and have $104 for incidentals?
  5.  Find cost of 6720 lbs. coal at $6.00 per ton.
  6.  Find the interest of $512.60 for 8 months and 18 days at 7 percent.
  7.  What is the cost of 40 boards 12 inches wide and 16 ft. long at $.20 per inch?
  8.  Find bank discount on $300 for 90 days (no grace) at 10 percent.
  9.  What is the cost of a square farm at $15 per acre, the distance around which is 640 rods?
  10.  Write a Bank Check, a Promissory Note, and a Receipt.

U.S. History (Time, 45 minutes)

  1. Give the epochs into which U.S. History is divided.
  2.  Give an account of the discovery of America by Columbus.
  3.  Relate the causes and results of the Revolutionary War.
  4.  Show the territorial growth of the United States.
  5.  Tell what you can of the history of Kansas.
  6.  Describe three of the most prominent battles of the Rebellion.
  7.  Who were the following: Morse, Whitney, Fulton, Bell, Lincoln, Penn, and Howe?
  8.  Name events connected with the following dates: 1607, 1620, 1800, 1849, and 1865?

Orthography (Time, one hour)

  1. What is meant by the following: Alphabet, phonetic orthography, etymology, syllabication?
  2.  What are elementary sounds? How classified?
  3.  What are the following, and give examples of each: Trigraph, subvocals, diphthong, cognate letters, linguals?
  4.  Give four substitutes for caret ‘u’.
  5.  Give two rules for spelling words with final ‘e’. Name two exceptions under each rule.
  6.  Give two uses of silent letters in spelling. Illustrate each.
  7.  Define the following prefixes and use in connection with a word: Bi, dis, mis, pre, semi, post, non, inter, mono, super.
  8.  Mark diacritically and divide into syllables the following, and name the sign that indicates the sound: Card, ball, mercy, sir, odd, cell, rise, blood, fare, last.
  9.  Use the following correctly in sentences, Cite, site, sight, fane, fain, feign, vane, vain, vein, raze, raise, rays.
  10.  Write 10 words frequently mispronounced and indicate pronunciation by use of diacritical marks and by syllabication.

Geography (Time, one hour)

  1. What is climate? Upon what does climate depend?
  2.  How do you account for the extremes of climate in Kansas?
  3.  Of what use are rivers? Of what use is the ocean?
  4.  Describe the mountains of N.A.
  5.  Name and describe the following: Monrovia, Odessa, Denver, Manitoba, Hecla, Yukon, St. Helena, Juan Fernandez, Aspinwall and Orinoco.
  6.  Name and locate the principal trade centers of the U.S.
  7.  Name all the republics of Europe and give capital of each.
  8.  Why is the Atlantic Coast colder than the Pacific in the same latitude?
  9.  Describe the process by which the water of the ocean returns to the sources of rivers.
  10.  Describe the movements of the earth. Give inclination of the earth.

Health (Time, 45 minutes)

  1. Where are the saliva, gastric juice, and bile secreted? What is the use of each in digestion?
  2.  How does nutrition reach the circulation?
  3.  What is the function of the liver? Of the kidneys?
  4.  How would you stop the flow of blood from an artery in the case of laceration?
  5.  Give some general directions that you think would be beneficial to preserve the human body in a state of health.

Incidentally, during these times, school only lasted 7 months, from October 1 to April 1. This allowed time for planting, farming, and harvest.

What about your “school days” memories? Were you a student who looked forward to school, or hated it? Do you have a favorite story of those by-gone times to share?

Ada Curnutt – U.S. Deputy Marshal

by

Indian Territory (Oklahoma) was a violent place in the late 1800s.  Crime increased dramatically after the Civil War, and because law enforcement in Indian Territory was close to nonexistent (the Indian Nations police force had no jurisdiction over crimes committed in other states), outlaws flocked to the area seeking both criminal opportunity and a safe haven from arrest and prosecution. In other words, outlaws did as they pleased with little chance of retribution unless it was the unofficial kind.

The U. S. Court for the Western District of Arkansas, located in Fort Smith, on the border of Indian Territory was the only court with jurisdiction over the area, which covered 74,000 square miles. Little was done to police the lawless territory until Isaac Parker was appointed judge for the Western District of Arkansas in 1875 and decided to clean up Indian Territory. He appointed 200 U.S. Deputy Marshals to hunt down and arrest wanted criminals and to help bring law and order to the area. Several of these deputy marshals were women.

Ada Curnutt, the daughter of a Methodist minister,  moved to Oklahoma Territory with her sister and brother-in-law around 1890 at the age of 20.  She became the Clerk of the District Court in Norman and then a Deputy Marshal under U.S. Marshal William Grimes. Her duties as a Deputy Marshal included serving warrants, escorting prisoners and making arrests.

In 1893, she received a telegram from Marshal Grimes telling her to send a deputy to Oklahoma City to arrest two known “toughs” who were wanted for forgery. No deputies were available, so Ada took matters into her own hands and boarded a train to Oklahoma City. She tracked the fugitives to the Black & Rogers Saloon, then sent in a message that a lady wanted to see them outside. When the men exited the saloon, she attempted to arrest them, without aid of a weapon. The armed men thought it was a joke, and allowed her to handcuff them, but once they realized she was serious, they attempted to resist. Ada told the criminals that she’d deputize every man in the growing crowd to help subdue them if need be. Not long after, 24 year-old Ada escorted the men to the train and transported them back to Norman, where they were convicted. In 1893 alone, Ada made 19 arrests. When she wasn’t working as a Deputy Marshal, she enjoyed painting china.

To learn about another early female Deputy Marshal serving in Indian Territory, check out Winnie Grigg’s excellent 2019 post on F. M. Miller by clicking here.

 

 

AN UNLIKELY PAIR OF SWEETHEARTS–AND A GIVEAWAY! by Cheryl Pierson

by

A few years ago, in 2015, my story HIDDEN TRAILS came out just before Valentine’s Day, which was appropriate since my heroine’s name in this tale is Valentine. Since we’re approaching that time of the year (I’m looking forward sooner than I normally would, because we are having such awful weather right now! I’m ready for January to be over!) I thought I would post this blog entry again. It’s been a while, and this is really one of my favorite novella-length stories I’ve written. I think I love it so because of the unlikely characters that end up falling in love, and the danger that almost thwarts a happily-ever-after for them, making the ending for them even sweeter!

Evidently, it resonated with many others, too, because it was a finalist in the Western Fictioneers Peacemaker Awards Short Fiction category for 2015!

Have you ever read a story or noticed, in real life, that some people seem to be an “odd match”? That’s the way I felt about my hero and heroine, but because of their pasts, they truly are totally right for one another!

I’m offering a giveaway today! Please leave a comment for me about a couple that seem to be an unlikely pair  for a chance to win a copy of Hidden Trails.  The most famous unlikely pair that comes to mind for me is Scarlett and Ashley–but there are sooooo many, both in fiction and in reality!  Don’t forget to comment!

I’ve got a new release (2015) that hit the shelves last week just before Valentine’s Day! Hidden Trails is my latest western historical novella. This was a fun little novella to work on because it was something I hadn’t dealt with before. Though I write a lot of stories with heroes who are of mixed heritage–half white/half Indian, or half white/half Hispanic, I’ve never written a story with a heroine quite like Valentine Reneau.

Valentine’s mother was a slave, a beautiful octoroon, whose cruel master sold her off in a fit of drunken pique–luckily for her! She is able to marry and make a new life for herself, but there is always the uneasy fear that her former owner might find her–even though the Civil War has ended, and she is free. When Valentine is old enough to understand, her stepfather explains it to her, and so begins her burden of constantly looking over her shoulder, as well.

Now that Valentine’s on her own, she has to protect herself. The old fear is there, and it’s very real. But Valentine isn’t alone any longer.

Levi Connor rides into her life with a bullet in his leg, half dead from cold, hunger and blood loss. Once Valentine saves him, will he ride on, or will he stay and help her face her nightmare-turned-reality–the man she must acknowledge as her father?

Valentine intrigues me because I don’t know where she came from in my imagination. I “met” her walking along the road in the blizzard, carrying a wounded collie pup. I just knew she was the one for Levi. Have you ever read a story with an unlikely love match that stuck in your mind? I always am curious about what makes one person fall madly in love with another–especially when the odds are stacked against them.

There’s lots of excitement and action—and a Valentine’s Day hope for new love in this novella! Don’t forget to leave a comment to be entered to win a copy of HIDDEN TRAILS today!

 

PRPHidden Trails WebBLURB:

Levi Connor has never run from anything in his life, and he doesn’t intend to start now. After killing the two bandits who’d followed him into Indian Territory, he finds himself wounded and riding through a blinding February snowstorm. With no purpose ahead of him and no past to guide him, he discovers a reason to exist—the beautiful mixed-blood girl who takes him in and heals him.

Valentine Reneau lives in fear that her father will find her someday in the heart of Indian Territory and force her to return to Mississippi to take her mother’s place—in every way. She knows her time has run out when a stranger shows up on her land with two hired guns—and the devil in his plans.

With some unlikely help, Valentine must try to escape the slave’s fate that her mother left behind so many years before.

Will Levi kill for a woman he barely knows? The chips are down, the guns blaze, and everything finally comes clear along these HIDDEN TRAILS…but who’ll be left alive?

EXCERPT:

She pulled the covers away so she could see his leg. Without saying anything more, she took the lantern from the nightstand and turned up the wick, holding it close to the wound.

“I better get to this,” she said under her breath. Then, she glanced up to meet his gaze. “How long have you been carrying this bullet? And what are you running from?”

Levi grimaced as she turned her attention back to the wound and prodded at it.

“Three days. And I ain’t runnin’, ma’am. A Connor don’t run.”

“And you are a Connor, I take it?”

“Levi Connor. Didn’t get a chance to introduce myself earlier,” he muttered, letting go a sharp breath as she laid a warm, wet cloth over the wound.

“Need to get it cleaned up,” she said. “I don’t want to hurt you, but it can’t be helped. Taking out a bullet is always painful, but when it’s been in there for three days—”

“I know.” He waved a hand dismissively. “I’m just obliged to you—and I’ll make it up to you—for bein’ such a bother.”

She shook her head. “No bother. Truly. My father was a doctor, so I do know a little about what I’m doing.”

Levi breathed a slow sigh of relief. This wasn’t his first bullet hole. But thank God, he’d ended up here, with a beautiful young woman who seemed capable of treating him. There had been times before when he would have prayed to be in this circumstance, rather than some of the ones he’d found himself in.

Gentle hands ministered to him, but he suddenly remembered the very delicate location of the bullet hole and tried to re-cover himself.

“Mr. Connor, I’ve seen everything you have—and many others just like it,” Valentine said matter-of-factly. “I can’t very well remove a bullet from a wound I can’t see.” She snatched the covers from his hand and threw them back to his side. “You’re making it harder for me to be able to do what I need to.”

“In a week or two, I’d pay money for you to flip those covers away like that,” Levi answered.

She bent a long, hard look on him. “I’m not for sale, Mr. Connor. Not at any price. You want to keep riding?”

Levi shook his head. “Forget I said that, Valentine. Just the pain and the…damn humiliation talkin’. I didn’t mean it.”

A slow smile quirked her lips. “I can’t imagine you ever being embarrassed.”

“Believe it or not, I was raised a gentleman, ma’am.”

“I believe it, Mr. Connor. I do believe it.” Her voice was soft and sincere, and full of loss for things Levi didn’t understand.

But just then, she pulled the wound open and probed for the bullet, and the pain stripped everything else away from him. There was nothing in Levi’s consciousness but Valentine and her tweezers, delving into the bloody hole in his leg. He swallowed back the cry that threatened to bring the roof down, forcing it away.

 

Y’all know me…heh heh heh…as if this isn’t enough, trouble is on the way to Valentine’s house and is about to find her and Levi! I hope I have intrigued you!

AMAZON:    HIDDEN TRAILS  by Cheryl Pierson  

PRPHidden Trails Web

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHERYL’S AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE:  https://tinyurl.com/2k7xeddt

 

Order your copy of LOVE UNDER FIRE today!

 

A MARSHAL FOR CALLIE–KINDLE LINK: https://tinyurl.com/yn85vnkk

A MARSHAL FOR CALLIE–PAPERBACK LINK: https://tinyurl.com/mryt2fwf

 

Thanks for stopping by today! Be sure to leave your contact info along with your comment in case you win!