Celeste's Journal

I stayed at the Drifting Anchor Ranch with our boys this weekend.  Blake and Red volunteer for a rescue organization.  They went to the coast to work with other men on the best ways to rescue people from ships that are sinking.  Not far from where we live is an area called, "The Graveyard of the Pacific."  It is incredibly dangerous to ford that particular connection between the Columbia River, and the Pacific Ocean.

The pulsing of the mighty river and the waves of the mighty ocean causes the sandy river bottom to shift and adapt daily.  How do you make a connection of this type when the river bottom changes daily, sometimes hourly.  Blake was the Captain of a ship for eight years.  He became very adept at making that crossing.  He often says that, 'I simply felt my way through.  It was like walking through a familiar room at night without turning the light on.  I just said a prayer and then felt my way.'

The irony in his statement is that his 2nd in command was in charge while Blake got some much needed rest when they ran aground.  If they had not run aground in this place, I might never have met Captain Blake Calkin.  He saved me.  He and Willard Bond, pulled me out of a dark place of bondage and saved me!

Well our adorable boys and I had so much fun.  We went for a long walk.  Jamie dances more than walks.  He is such a busy bumblebee.  I have to watch him very closely.  If I see him smiling more broadly than usual I instantly know that he's in trouble!  lol  He does not walk into trouble, he dances and runs there.

On Saturday afternoon, after returning home, cute Eric fell asleep on the couch in the afternoon.  He is such a solemn child.  It seems as though he is constantly thinking deep, important thoughts.  The questions that he asks me always make me stretch and grow.

I had a sewing project with me.  I am making a dress for cranky Lucille Bond.  It's an interesting, slightly toxic thing to sew for her.  She treats me horribly.  Yet her business is invaluable in earning enough money to keep my shop open.

I had settled Jamie (I thought) with some quiet toys.  He was supposed to be looking at picture books, and playing with his toys.  Quiet time activities are clearly set out for him.  I was not watching him every minute.  After all, I had told him over, and over, and over again what to do during quiet time.

I suddenly had a sense that something was wrong.  I looked over at Eric and he was still sleeping soundly.  When I looked at Jamie, there was no Jamie!  My heart skipped a beat or two.  Then I reasoned that he could not have gone very far.  I was ever so wrong.  That boy can almost out run a horse!

Blake was in his office working on the never ending bookwork of running this ranch.  I quickly went in and told him about Jamie's escape.  Without a hesitation he stood, and ran out of the room, and out of the house.  (I am pretty sure that Jamie gained his ability to run rapidly from his Papa).

An hour later, Blake found a very sad, wet Jamie Calkin coming back from Carter's Creek.  Blake had a very stern discussion with Jamie.  Next Jamie and Blake went to the woodshed for a more firm reminder not to repeat this offense.

When Jamie came in the house, still dripping, he was a very sad little boy.  I took him upstairs to his room to help him out of his soaking clothes and into some dry ones.  He looked up at me and said, "Maman, I just wanted to go back to the water.  I love the water Maman.  I knew that I could not walk to the ocean," (I was grateful that he had not tried that), "so I went to Carter's Creek.  I was just going to wade.  I rolled up my pant legs so I didn't get them wet.  Then I slipped on a mossy stone and fell in the water.  At that point I knew that I was in trouble anyway, so I decided to swim.  You remember Papa just taught me how.  It was so lovely in the cool, blueness of the water.  I finally climbed out of the water to come home.  I knew that you would be very worried about me.  That's when Papa found me."

I hugged him close.  "Don't you EVER do that again!  I love you so much Jamie.  I was worried sick about you."  At this point I had tears running down my face, and Jamie did too."

Jamie threw his arms around me and hugged me fiercely.  I hugged him back.  I love these boys ever so much.  I'm grateful that Jamie is safe!  

Celeste's Journal

This area of Oregon is never supposed to get this hot.  I think it's close to 100 degrees.  Worst than the heat is the humidity.  Trying to keep my business running when I can hardly breathe because of the smothering weather is miserable.

I gave up today.  I rode my horse out to the ranch.  I decided that taking the boys to Carter's Creek would be a grand way for us to beat the heat.

Red, the boys, Blake and I, all worked together to pack the perfect lunch.  It certainly was an odd assortment of food types.  There was homemade bread.  There was cool creamy butter churned by Red.  There was jam, my favorite kind, strawberry rhubarb.  There was an apple pie, with a small container of heavy cream to pour over it.  There was turkey meat, and cheese.  Last but not least I had brought croissant that I had made yesterday before it became so beastly hot.

The boys charged into the cool refreshing water.  Their squeals and giggles renewed my soul.  I had not dressed in a swimming costume.  I feel uncomfortable wearing something tight that shows that much flesh.  I did have on a summer dress that is very simple, and had only one light petticoat underneath.

Blake called the boys back from their happy splashing.  We ate the delicious lunch with gusto.  Oh wait, I forgot to mention the dill, and beet pickles.  I adore those pickled vegetables!  Red is a master cook.  If he doesn't know how to make something he studies until he figures it out.  He says that he loved to cook with his Maman when he was growing up.

After our meal, Blake and Red took off their shirts, shoes, and socks.  They both dived into the deep creek water.  Both of them are strong swimmers.  They work with a rescue team in this area.  We live close to what is called, "The Graveyard of the Pacific."  It is an incredibly dangerous area where the Columbia River meets the Pacific ocean.  Many, many people have lost their lives trying to sail through this passage.  Blake and Red have been actively involved in saving lives.  Of course their swimming skills are impressive.

As a young child, I wandered into a small pool near our home and almost drowned.  Fortunately, my older brother had seen the direction I was wandering.  He followed me at a run and pulled me out of the water quickly.  After that I was terrified of water.  Our transatlantic immigration to America did nothing to cure me of that fear.

As I was thinking about this I suddenly realized that Blake and Red were both running towards me.  I ran frantically away from them.  I don't believe I had ever told them about my fears.

They easily outpaced me.  Each of them took an arm and a leg and began to carry me to the water to toss me in.  They were both laughing.  At first they did not notice that I was crying, and pleading.  Finally it was Blake that noticed.  "Mon Celeste, why are you crying?"

The story tumbled out through my panicked sobs.  They sat me down gently on the ground.  They both apologized.  Then Blake said, "If I hold your hand and we only go into the shallow water could you do that?  It is so beastly hot today."

Coaxing me and holding my hand Blake got me into the shallow water.  I had to admit that it felt divine.  Coolness surrounding my humidity-heat laden skin felt heavenly.

Then Blake said, "Celeste, it's time for you to learn how to swim."  I protested strenuously.  He responded, "What if one of the boys wanders into water and you are the only person around.  What will you do then?"

I responded, "Not fair Blake.  It's not fair to use my fears to impel me to courage."

Blake just smiled.  Oh how I love that smile of his.  There is always a hint of devilment lurking in his golden-brown eyes.

Blake took the entire process step-by step.  He first showed me how to bubble the water.  Next he showed me how to turn my head from side to side breathing only when my head was out of the water.  Then he held me out straight and tried to get me to relax.  I'm certain that I was stiff as a board.

Finally he managed to get me to relax.  He didn't know that I wanted to melt into his arms and never leave.  Well maybe he did, but it's a good thing that neither of us mentioned that.  I still can't believe that I swam.  Not a long distance, and certainly not with the strength of Blake or Red, but I swam!

All of them, our boys, Red, Blake, all of them stood up and cheered.  I felt so loved and supported in that precious moment.  I will hang on to that bright memory for the rest of my life.

Blake told me that tomorrow he will pick me up to swim again.  This time he insists that I wear my swimming costume.  He said, "All those yards and yards of material weigh you down and make swimming even more difficult."  I couldn't disagree.

Just imagine, I know how to swim!  What a lovely thing that is!   

Recipe

I decided to write this recipe in my journal because it sounds delicious.  It took me a long time just to find a pen and paper. 

My ability to concentrate is severely impaired ever since I was forced into sexual slavery by Madame LeRouge.  Madame is buried in the pauper's cemetery here in Calkington.  There is not even a stone to mark her passing.  I find that is what she earned.  She was a miserable human being who made money out of the suffering of others.  Sometime, a long, long time from now I will forgive her.  I won't forgive her for her sake.  I will forgive her for MY sake.  Anger and hatred breed more anger and hatred.  I don't wish to let my soul soak in bitterness.

Well, I got off task there.  Back to the recipe:


Chocolate Caramels

2 cups molasses
1 c sugar
1 c cream
1/2 lb chocolate
Piece of butter the size of an egg

Beat altogether; boil until it thickens in water, turn into larger flat tin that is buttered.  When nearly cold, cut into squares.

I made these last week.  They were so delicious.  I shared my treats with the Calkin family when they came to visit.  Jamie had stickiness everywhere.  He grinned the entire time he ate them. 

I also shared some of these with Sophronia and her family.  Sophronia Evans is my only female friend in town.  Every other woman treats me with superiority and disdain, as though somehow they are better than I am.

To keep from feeling inferior I imagine these self-righteous women stuck in my situation.  I wager that they would be a bit different.  It might be good for some of them.  They would not stick their noses up quite so high.

We are all humans.  The most foolish thing we can do is judge each other.  We need to help each other.  Love will always be grander and stronger than self-righteousness.

Sophrie and Tom are doing well right now.  Tom has a good job.  They have two darling little children.  The oldest is Robert, the youngest is Lily.  They are beautiful children, polite and loving.  All of them loved the chocolate caramels.

Sophrie sometimes helps me when I have more sewing in less time than I can achieve.  She's an excellent seamstress.  I tell her that I pray that she never opens her own seamstress shop.  I believe that she would be luring all my customers away with her amazing work.

Well, the night is dark, my eyes want to shut.  I guess I'll sleep.  Morning comes far too early! 

Up and Coming

I know that I have said ever so many times that my book, "Angela, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch," is going to be published soon.  I've had some miserable health glitches that have made writing impossible.  Now it appears that we may be moving in the next few months.

In the meantime I have also been working on the next novel in the series, "Sarah, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch."  Sarah is ever so much fun to write.  She's strong, bold, sassy, loving, unselfish, oh so many qualities that I'm working to have, and that the ladies I named her for have in quantity, (my Mother, Daughter, Great-Grandmother and Great-Aunt).

When I first began the process of writing my books I heard many writers say that they felt as though the characters in the book wrote their own story.  I dismissed the idea as too imaginative.  I mean, come on, how does a fictional character reach out and write their own story?

I now understand what they were speaking about.  When I am in the midst of writing, ideas flow into my mind.  My acting background helps.  I think about the senses that are most important in my character.  Does she remember things through sounds, or is she extremely visual...etc.  I write a biography for each character so that I can remember the way they look and their personality traits.  After writing portions of all EIGHT novels in the series it's very easy for my almost 59 year old memory to be inconsistent.  Example, what if Celeste has beautiful emerald green eyes in her book, and BLUE in Angela's?  That would be unfortunate, right?

Here is a teeny, tiny, sneak peek into the first chapter of "Sarah, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch."

The blanket covering her was beautiful, brilliant with colors that sparkled. She could see red, gold, and orange. The colors lay over her as she rested in the valley. The clouds seemed to float down, down, down, trying to reach her. The mistiness brushed against her blanket. The blanket broke into tiny pieces that started to dance. They circled. Mocking her, they made no sound. Dancing in intricate color patterns the pieces changed shape.

Sarah shook her head. She groaned. Could this enormous, heavy thing, be her head? If it were, how did it not snap her long, tiny, neck like a dry branch breaks in gusting wind?

There was roaring, roaring, pounding, rhythmically against her aching ears. She couldn’t remember. Where was she? Had she traveled back to the land of the great waters? Mercifully, darkness closed over her mind. Pain left. Pounding, and dancing blanket ended.

“Young lady, can you hear me?” Silence fractured into a thousand points of pain. Sarah tried to react, to open her eyes. They were closed with the weight of the world upon them. She couldn’t move any part of her body. Again she heard the roaring, roaring. She cried out. Trying to reach the healing embrace of the ocean’s cold water she stretched. It was no use. Blackness claimed her again.

When she opened her eyes the next time she gasped in alarm. She was somewhere that didn’t belong to The People. This place was unlike anything in her experience. For the first time in her life she could not feel the connection of the earth beating it’s living dance under her. She felt something that was both hard, and soft at the same time.

Trying to rise, Sarah found that there was a strange dress over her skin. It was soft, softer, even than the deerskin that she and her mother had worked so hard to soften. Scraping, they worked with their hands, until they cracked, and bled. This dress was the color of new snow. Softness brushed against her legs. In other places the fabric came too close to her skin. It itched. She scratched very hard at her arms, and her neck. Trying to raise the dress from her was too hard for her limited strength.

“I’m very glad that you’re awake young lady.” The man’s skin was pale. His eyes were the rich brown of spring earth. At first his speech made no sense to her. It seemed like the sounds of animals. She tried to understand but couldn’t. At last she was able to concentrate enough to recognize that he spoke in the language that Wise Woman of The People had taught her for many years.

“Where am I?” She tried to say it. The words came from her in the voice of a stranger. She tried again. Realizing that her voice was hard, and scratched from being out of use she wondered, “How long have I been lying in the lodge of a strange man?”

She tried to rise but her legs were traitorous. Her bones had turned to liquid. They were unwilling to hold her up. She spoke slowly, willing the strange words to come to her mind. “I must return to my people. They will worry.”

“Whoa there young lady, you’re not going to be ready to try walking for at least another week.” Blake Calkin was six feet two inches. He was broad, and sturdy. His brown eyes twinkled with kindness. Looking down on this obviously frightened, young, Indian woman he softly touched her hand. Sarah recoiled . “I wish that I could make you understand that you are safe.” Blake paced back and forth by the bed for a moment.

Finally he reached out his arms. He rocked them back and forth, back and forth, like he was holding a baby.

Sarah was really confused. What was this strange man with hair the color of hard rocks trying to tell her? Again, she tried to rise from the bed grunting with the effort. Beads of sweat burst out on her forehead. Blake had not quit trying to help her understand that she was safe. When rocking a baby did not elicit a response a positive response. Blake began softly stroking his own arm as though he held a baby. Singing a lullaby, Blake’s voice was rich, deep, warm.

Sarah felt herself relaxing against her will. She remembered stories of wild, white men who used magic powers to trap women of The People. They were led away, never to return. She was afraid that she was about to fall prey to the same magical powers. The sounds that the man created were soothing. She began to loose the will to fight. Sarah just wanted to relax, and listen to the comforting sound.

Red O’Toole, Blake’s houseman that was more family than employee, burst into the room. He carried a tray filled with delicious smelling food. Sarah opened her eyes. She began to speak in her native tongue rapidly in fright.

Pointing to the man’s head where fire burst forth she exclaimed, “His head is flaming fire bursting hot that will burn all of us!” This time, fear washed through her. Filled with adrenaline she jumped from the bed. Using her blanket she began to wrap the burning head to quench the flames.

She was surprised to discover that the flame that she saw was actually a strange type of hair. Her hair was brown, strong, thick, and straight. There were different colors of brown hair amongst The People. Some even had wavy hair. This man’s hair was coiled like snakes. Flame colored it did not burn.

Blake was startled by her reaction to Red’s hair. He began to laugh when he realized what she thought. Red began sputtering, “Dang fool girl, wrapping my head up in a blanket. What was she thinking?” Blake tried to speak through his laughter, “She thought your head was on fire. She tried to stop the flames from spreading.” Red started to laugh as well.

Sarah had never heard sounds exactly like these men were making. They both threw their heads back and laughed, rich, rippling sounds, like water in the river, gurgling over rocks. Their sounds made her feel laughter rising in her throat. She began to laugh, a soft silvery sound that floated across the room like a gentle tinkling bell. The laughter rose, and became merrier. The three individuals were united by a common language, laughter.

When they finally stopped, Sarah climbed back into bed, weak. The adrenaline surge that had caused her frenzied flight was spent. Red brought the tray over towards her. He sat it on the bed, and began to show her what was there. She suddenly felt extremely hungry. She saw something liquid like water but with pieces of meat and vegetables. There was also some yellow chunk that looked unlike anything she had ever seen or smelled before.

Hunger drove Sarah to pick up the food and began gently trying, testing, hesitantly at first. Then as the taste became less alien her appetite drove her. She knew nothing of the strange shaped objects that lay next to the food. She used her hands as The People did. Even though she was motivated by the hunger of her stomach it was still obvious in the way that she ate that she was refined. She bit off small pieces and chewed softly, quietly, with no loud sounds of smacking, or chomping.

When she had finished the food she looked up at the two men who were watching her. She rubbed her stomach and smiled. Her smile was rewarded by the smiles of the men. Red gathered the dishes, picked up her tray and left.

Blake pulled a chair up by the bed and sat down. Sarah looked curiously at this man. She was surprised to find that there was no fear in her toward him. She wondered if she should be afraid, cautious, on her guard. Searching her heart she found no need for those feelings.

Blake pointed to himself and said, “My name is Blake.” Sarah repeated carefully after him, “Blake?” Blake smiled and nodded yes. Then he said, “What is your name?” At first she didn’t understand then she pointed to herself and answered, “Sarah.”

Blake sat down again in the chair by the bed. “Sarah you had a nasty infection in your leg that had spread to all of your body.” He pointed to her leg and then moved his hands to show that it had spread to all of her. “Red, the man with the flaming hair opened it and cleaned it. It is getting better, look.” Blake turned back the bandage that was tied on Sarah’s leg. Sarah winced as she saw the still inflamed, weeping wound. “How did you hurt your leg, Sarah?” Sarah frowned, softly remembering.

“As I climbed there was a sharp rock. I slipped, and fell on it. It tore my leg. I used herbs. I used fire rocks to purify it. The strong poisons spread quickly.”

Sarah tried again to rise but turned pale and sank back against the pillows. “I should return to The People. They will worry.” Blake spoke softly, “What you must do now is to rest. You are still far too ill to travel.” Sarah had no strength to argue with Blake.

“Taclong Lechosa,” she said in a low melodious voice. She spoke again, “That means for saving my life, my life is now yours.” Blake patted Sarah’s hand very gently. “Rest Sarah. ” Sarah fell asleep with the image of deep brown eyes looking into her soul.

After Christmas

Wheezing, coughing, sneezing, I'm shaking my bed, first with chills, and then feeling burning hot.  Sleep eludes me, and I am frustrated by remembering that no matter how sick, tomorrow I must open my doors and work.  I simply can't pay my bills if I don't work.

Gratefully, I have managed to turn a tidy profit through my seamstress work.  I love what I do.  It's such fun to take possibilities and turn them into clothing.  The hours seem to fly past as I work with women to help them look as lovely as possible.

Mrs. Judith Chou came to me today.  She is such a gracious, lovely woman.  She can barely speak English.  She and her husband have come quite recently from China.  She managed to explain to me that she had worked hard and saved her money because she desperately needed a new outfit.  She can't sew.  She was born with her hands twisted and turned.  They look as though somehow they were molded wrong.

She still runs a thriving laundry business.  In her limited English she tells me that those twisted hands do fine at scrubbing a shirt on a washboard, wringing them out, hanging them, then ironing and starching those shirts.

I do not normally carry the type of silk fabric that she wears.  Usually I sew with ginghams, calicos, and once in a rare while a crepe du chine.  (I LOVE crepe du chine).  Being able to create a beautiful outfit of Chinese silk is delightful to me.  She brought her own fabric with her.  Purchasing it years ago in China she brought it with her when she came to America.

Her first name is not really Judith, but it is a name that we American's can't seem to pronounce correctly.  She told me that it sounded a little like Judith, and she had met a nice lady named Judith when they made their long, long trip from China to here.  So she decided to adopt the name.

Ohhhh...that chill was miserable.  First I was sooooo cold, and then I burst into a hot sweat.  Now I feel weak as a new born colt.  I worry when I'm this sick that I will make others sick when they come into my shop.  Last week I made a new batch of the nasty medicine my Mother taught me how to make.  It involves boiling vodka with garlic, onions, and some other nasty tasting herbs.  It really does help to clear the infection faster.  On the other hand, I can't take it in the morning because I wouldn't have any customers.  They would all run from the smell!

I make myself vinegar tea with honey in the morning.  I drink it all day long.  That usually helps me keep from coughing on my clients.  Sigh...I am finally beginning to feel sleepy.  I'm so grateful.  I'm just exhaust...

(Author's note...Celeste fell asleep and dropped her journal and pen).