Ardis Journal

Mother desperately wanted me to become a southern lady.  A gracious, soft-spoken, hospitable, serving, loving, Christian lady.  She sewed me a lovely dress to wear when I married Tom.  It had yards and yards of fabric in the skirt with a hoop skirt underneath.  I did wear it to marry Tom.  It now is packed away.  What earthly good would a fancy dress with a hoop skirt do me now?

To be honest, I was rather a lost cause at being trained to be lady like.  I'd rather ride a horse bareback than sit side saddle.  When ma would call me in to instruct me on cooking, I would hide in our old haystack.  She would finally tire of trying to call me.  She rarely complained that I didn't come when she called.  I think she understood that I didn't take easily to the domestic arts of homemaking. 

Ma and Da came from serious poverty.  They came to America to make a better life for them, but especially for me.  They longed to own a big plantation in Tuckaleechee Cove.

To really attain such wealth they would need slaves to work the fields, whether they grew cotton or other crops.  The three of us just couldn't produce enough to compete with the big plantation owners, especially since some of them had the head start of a home and land passed through generations.  My parents wouldn't even consider having a slave.  They believed that honest work must be done with their own hands.  They were certainly financially stable.  They owned their farm out right.  Sigh, once again I feel harsh thoughts toward Tom.  He sold my birthright without even speaking to me.  Sadly, we lost everything.  It does give me a small measure of comfort that the evil villain that robbed us of land and money is now in jail and will be there for a long time.

My wedding day was grand.  I managed to convince Tom's mother not to tie my corset so tightly that I could not breathe.  I still maintain that corsets were invented by men to keep us dominated, subverted.  The dress was lovely, bright, feminine.  I felt lovelier than I had ever felt before.  I even had been assiduous in treating my work roughed hands and face so that they were very soft.

I never wanted to be a boy.  I enjoy the types of outdoor work they do.  Gardening has always seemed like an excellent way to create.  To me it's a way to create beauty.   I've always like bright, shiny things, and pretty clothes.  I just also enjoy riding a horse, playing with our old dog Bright, and playing kick the can with Tom and the neighbor boys.  Sometimes I lose track of time when I sketch someone, or something.  My sketches of people are much better than my sketches of places.

I am grateful to state that most of the time I understand and like myself.  The good Lord has blessed me with gifts that I hope to use to his glory!

Ardis Journal

I have been knitting some hot pads.  Blake picked up a pan by the handle the other day and burned his hand quite severely.  I asked him why he would do anything so foolish.  His response was, "I don't have anything to hold the handle with."  Gratefully I have Mama's knitting needles, and lots of yarn as well.  I'm making a simple pattern.  I've heard it called the basket weave.  I decided that was a little too simple.  In the pattern I'm making I'm creating triangles in a square.

Mama could make anything.  She didn't need a pattern, or someone to show her how to make it.  It would just show up in her head, and it would be perfect each and every time.  She made me the most beautiful dresses.  I have out grown most of the gowns she made me.  The ones that still fit, well they were torn to shreds as we came from Tennessee to Oregon.

I have saved as many scraps as I could.  I'm going to sew them together to make a quilt for Tom and I to put on our bed.  I am trying to think in a positive manner.  Even though he has not written, I am certain that fighting in a war leaves very little time for letter writing.

Maybe some day, some time our child will put the quilt over their child, and mama, papa, Tom, and I will all live on.  I fear that I am in a melancholy mood this evening.  No matter how many times I try to reach for positive ideas, all that comes to mind are the deaths, the failures, the home that we left behind.

When Blake burned his hand, I did not speak a word to him.  I took him by the other hand and pulled him with me to the well.  I pulled up water.  Next I continued to pull him forward to the ice cellar.  I used the ice pick that is always kept there and chipped off some ice.  I put the ice in the bowl of water.  Next I sat Blake down and put his wounded hand in the cold water. 

Blake looked very surprised.  He said, "My mother always said that butter should be put on a burn.  I never understood.  Butter seemed to make my burns hurt worse."

I replied, my mother always put burns in very cold water as soon as they were burned.  She made us hold our burned anatomy in the cold until it began to feel better.  I was always amazed at how that simple action helped most burns to heal quickly.  Blake you just stay here until I send Red to fetch you.  I'll finish the meal and then we'll eat.  Blake didn't even bother to reply.  It was easy for me to see how the cold water relieved his pain.

Well I don't know that I cheered myself up much, but I'm so tired I'm going to try and sleep anyway.  Nightie night.
 

Ardis Journal

Rain is drumming on the ceiling over my head.  I'm ever so grateful to know that whatever Blake builds, he builds to outlast rain, snow, or wind.  Tonight the pounding is not soothing.  It just feels like the world is going backwards.  The Bible speaks about Noah and how wicked the people of his time were.  God washes away everybody but Noah, his family, and the creatures they take on the ark.  He gives those wicked folks many opportunities to repent, they won't listen.  I wonder right now, are we all as wicked here in this place that seems to be getting washed away?

Tonight I'm so tired and sad.  I remember strongly the final peace I felt when I was trapped in that creek.  I felt that death was close and I wasn't fighting any more.  I felt love, richer, fuller, than ever before.  It was a rude shock to be jerked back into living.

I believe that there is not an end to our essence, or spirit.  I have never doubted the existence of God, the Creator of heaven and earth and all that is in them.  I believe that he created this beautiful, harsh planet for us, his children, to live on, and learn from.

During the daytime I keep myself busy and push away these deeper philosophical thoughts and emotions.  It also helps me to sleep quicker and more deeply if I work hard.  I haven't been recording anything in this journal again for a long time.  I've tried on many nights.  I wind up tearing up the drab dreariness that falls off my pen onto the paper.

Blake Calkin is a very good man.  I worry, often, that people in the town will assume that he and I share more than a platonic friendship.  After all, so many men in this area have moved Indian women in with them.  They don't worry about the Christian ceremony of marriage.  Some of the men have more than one woman living with them, all of the women giving his children life.  Knowing these facts explains why some of these folks assume that is the situation with Blake and I.

I am eager for a white woman to move in somewhere close by.  I need to have a woman that I can share a place with. I hope that I can move away from this male dominated household. 

Blake is a wonderful, unselfish man.  He's well traveled, self-educated, and very thoughtful.  Nonetheless, writing this down makes me feel guilty.  After all, I have a husband, a man who deserves my loyalty, my allegiance. 

It is a very harsh thing to me is that I don't know if Tom is alive?  Sometimes I can't even remember what he looks like, except that he is considered very handsome.  To me, I miss a certain lack of imagination and mischief that never shows on that handsome face.  He is constant...and often I have found that very boring.  Now I'm feeling negative.  I'm going to try and sleep.    

Ardis Journal

I have not written in here very much lately.  Wintry gray has begun erasing all of autumn's glory.  I'm grateful that it does not snow very much here in Oregon.  Cold weather has never been my friend.  My mood tends to follow the seasons. 

In Autumn the brilliant colors fill my soul with buoyant joy.  There are mostly evergreen trees here but every once in awhile a brilliant fire maple will peek out from among the more sedate greenery.  There is a road near Blake's ranch that is lined with golden leaves on both sides.  I walked it every single day before winter set in.

Spring is all about renewal...plants wake up, green creeps through the winter gray and silver.  I love getting in the garden and planting seeds, then watching the crops grow.  Summer?  Summer brings sweeping landscapes of every kind of new plant and flower.

That brings me to the one season that I don't enjoy very much.  Oh I like Thanksgiving, and then the Christmas Season.  It's January through half of March that I could live without.  This ceaseless rain feels as though it's pounding a drum against my head.  All of my sorrow seems to eclipse any joy that might leak through. 

Sigh, I had to force myself to write in here tonight.  There is icy rain beating against Blake's two room ranch house.  Instead of feeling cozy and comfy lying here in this warm bed, I feel a chill run down my spine.  The chill is due to all the death I have witnessed in the last few years.  First it was my parents.  I still think that it was cruel that they died...and left me behind alone.  Well, not quite alone because then I had Tom, my husband, and his family.  Now they are gone as well?

I wonder if Tom is on some horrifying battle field not only fighting the cold, but the Confederates as well?  Does he wonder about me as he shoots and defends himself, and our country?  Why doesn't he write me a letter?  Is he dead, wounded, left behind anonymously?

I have heard that some soldiers get tattooed with their name, and their military information.  I have never cared for the gaudiness of tattoos.  It doesn't seem like those that choose to pollute their bodies in this fashion can be truly refined.  I've changed my mind after reading the headlines about this dreadful war.  These designating tattoos help wives and families to be notified when a soldier dies.

I think worse than death would be for Tom to wind up in a Confederate prisoner of war camp.  Horror stories have leaked into the newspapers about them as well.  I don't think the Union has better detainment facilities.  Just because our Union ideals are positive it does not mean that we can treat our enemies in a more positive manner than they treat us.  That is the very nature of war, to kill or be killed.

Usually when I write in my journal it helps me to sort out twisted thoughts.  It isn't working tonight.  I just feel more twisted than ever.  I'm going to attempt to get some sleep. 

Ardis Journal - Today I Choose Happiness

This morning I was awakened by jolting upright in my bed.  The dream that I had was very real.  I was home again...home with mama and papa in Tennessee.  Mother was reminding me that happiness was a choice.  Both of my parents were positive examples of looking for the best in life.  Even when they were laid low by the disease that took their lives, they still laughed, and found ways to help me prepare for being alone.

I have been laid low by so much of death and loss.  I do fine most days.  There are just some days that come along where the grief swirls me about as though I am caught in a tornado.  I saw a whirlwind once.  It was random.  It completely destroyed our neighbors barn, and drove pieces of straw into the logs of their home.  Somehow it did no further damage to their log home than those straws driven in along one side.

I asked Red how he handled his grief over the death of his beloved wife Ruth, and his sunshiny darling, his daughter Angela.  He explained that as a man he feels that he must suppress those emotions when he is around others.  He also explained that his grief had driven him to drink as a way to escape his pain.  The problem was that then he had two big problems, grief, and drinking to take the bitter edge off the grief.

I know that is not a solution for me.  Losing our baby...it was still just a dream.  It had not yet seemed quite real this new human forming inside my body.  I was excited to think that Tom and I could create something positive together.

I now feel like I should never have married Tom.  I did not love him the way that I witnessed his father and mother loving.  I will never forget Tom's father Aidan risking his life, and then losing his life trying desperately to rescue his wife Fiona.  I gain a tiny bit of comfort from my knowledge that they are together in heaven.  I just wish they were here with me instead.

Brother Billy.  How I adored that wonderful young boy.  He made me feel important, loved.  He was every bit as handsome as Tom.  I have no doubt that he would have grown into a marvelous loving man.  Why couldn't I save him?  He and I were riding together on the same horse.  I tried over and over to find him in the rushing, roaring river but I couldn't.  His illness had already made him weak.  The near drowning finished taking away any strength that he had left.

Where does all of this leave me?  Anger helps drive away the feelings of isolation and loneliness.  I'm angry at Tom because he sold my parents home and land without even consulting me.  I'm angry at J.P. Fowler for causing such vicious harm to so many people.

I started this journal post with my beloved mother's tender, melodic voice in my head.  "Today I choose happiness."  It would be far easier to let the rage, the vengeance that I long for take the forefront of my life.  In doing so I would be dishonoring the two greatest parents the world has ever created.  SIGH....trying to put all the negative emotions aside and choosing happiness takes a vital amount of energy.  Yet, usually when I work to focus on the good instead of the bad, I'm amazed to remember all the good that still exists.

An example?  I was left completely alone in a place with no home.  All of my life savings is gone.  Yet Blake Calkin and Red O'Toole have given me home and family, much to their inconvenience.  I CAN be happy, even if it is through darn hard work!  I CAN and I WILL!

Mother also said, "Don't give UP, give IN, or give WAY!"  She then added, "Do give LOVE, give JOY, give HAPPINESS."  Thanks mama and papa.  Today I will do my best to remember your excellent advice!

Ardis Journal

I love to sketch.  When my fingers are able to connect to paper, to connect to the force that brings the human body to life, to the expressions, the ideas in a persons eyes, this is a very real joy for me.

I had so much fun drawing a portrait of Dr. John Stone that shows who he is inside as well as outside.  I tried to show how he protects and rescues everyone around him.  It was interesting to me that in showing his goodness his exterior features were heightened.  The old saying is true, "Don't judge a book by its cover."  It's true for many people.

I drew a picture of Fowler.  Physically he was not an ugly man, but I'm not a fair judge because I know the evil that lives inside him.  When I portrayed his inward thoughts and actions, he truly did become evil, and frightening to look at.

I have wanted all of my life to draw beautiful pictures of God's earth as I experience it.  I have tried, tried, tried, and tried again to make mountains look as I perceive them.  I've tried to capture a picture of the magnificent space where the Columbia River meets the Pacific Ocean.  Truly to me that place is every bit as sacred as a church building.  To me it testifies that there IS a God.  There had to be a master creator for that space to exist.

Blake convinced me that I should embrace the gift that I have, sketching people, and not focus so heavily on the gift that I haven't, bringing God's earth alive through my sketches.  I know that he's right but I will still keep trying to expand that ability.  After all, if we never try to improve, we'll never know what is possible, right?

I painted portraits of my parents to give them on our last Christmas together.  We didn't know that it would be our last Christmas.  Those sketches are carefully stored at the Drifting Anchor Ranch in the bedroom space.  They are not very large, so they don't take up a great deal of space.  I am proud of the images that I captured of my beloved parents.  Mama was a true beauty inside and out.  I'm grateful that I inherited her deep brown hair, and her dear smile.  I am not quite as thrilled to have Papa's fair skin.  It burns so very easily.  I'm grateful for these images that I will carry of them through the rest of my life.

I am beyond tired.  I fell asleep for a moment so it's obviously time to close this missive.  Good night journal.

Sheros of The Drifting Anchor Ranch Series

The following description is a synopsis of the Books in Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch, series.   
Ardis - Tall for women of the mid 1800's.  She has lovely thick chestnut brown hair.  Her eyes are golden-brown and seem to reflect the warmth of the sunshine, even on rainy days.  Her sketching of humans capture the true essence of the individual.  Skills of rising to any situation make detective work natural for her.

Sarah -  She is The Leader of The People.  The People have a home on the top of a mountain called Meleshe.  She is petite at five foot two inches but she is strong of body and mind.  She can sing beautifully and she is extremely unselfish.  Members of her tribe that are much older than she is rely on her wisdom and judgement.  It is time for her to be joined with Vanque.  Is he the man she will spend her life with?

Celeste - She is born in France.  Her father is the master vintner.  He is the fourth generation of master vintner's from this vineyard.  He will never own any land if he stays in France.  He has a dream of owning his own vineyard.  The family packs up and leaves for America.  Celeste has hair of red sunshine, and green eyes.  Her features are lovely, and her nose tilts up just a tiny bit at the end.

Angela - Left on the doorstep of an orphanage one very cold wintry night, Angela has no idea where she comes from.  She's adopted by a man who turns out to be a thief and a murderer.  He uses her to steal.  Attempting to rob a safe from a private home she is wounded.  Angela has waist length strawberry blond hair, naturally curly.  Her eyes are crystal blue.  Her skin is fair.  She is not aware of her own natural beauty  

Lily - Dressed in a tattered, patched old dress, Lily is painfully shy.  Her family is large, with seven children and two parents.  Her father is an angry alcoholic who drinks away any money that he makes.  Her mother works very hard to try and support their large family on very little.  Lily is beginning to show hints of womanly curves to come.  Her smile radiates joy, but she doesn't smile very often.  Her hair is shiny blue-black, like the wing of a beautiful bird.  Lily lacks self-confidence.

Rose - Her husband Owen died, leaving her a ranch that makes her the richest woman in western Oregon.  She wants to marry Blake Calkin.  Rose has beautiful blue eyes, and black hair.  Her skin is fair as a pink rose.  Curvaceous in the same style as one of Rubin's paintings, she covers her feelings of inadequacy with a bold facade.

Beth - Starting out life as Wilhelmina Elizabeth Bond she is known as Willy, sometimes Wicked Willy throughout her childhood.  She is very unusual looking.  She has platinum blond hair.  Her eyes are gray, like a stormy day in western Oregon.  She is almost painfully thin.  Eric Calkin will be her husband, she has set her mind that this will happen.  As an adult she is known as Beth.  Eric will marry her, right?

Tapestry - Just as a tapestry is usually a textile woven to show a picture, this last book in the series is the only book that is not stand alone.  This book will weave any missing threads of the series together to finish the image.



  

Ardis Journal Entry

A beautiful day.  Blue skies, puffy little white clouds, and a perfect temperature of 75 degrees.  I don't care for heat.  Heat means wearing a bonnet, or getting sunburned because of my fair Scottish skin.  Today?  I didn't care about a sun burn, and I refused to wear a bonnet.  I spent most of the day outside.  I love to hike about the area where Blake's ranch is located.  The mountains are almost in the backyard.

Now that I live in town with Will and Lucy, the mountains are a little further away.  Today, the three of us went for a picnic.  Will is always so busy.  Lucy and I talked him into taking a day off.  I wanted them to see Fern Falls, and the mysterious place that John Stone, Blake, and I found  above the falls.  I warned them that it was a long drive, but none of us cared.  We told tall tales, laughed, sang silly songs, and laughed some more.

Lucy and I had made fried chicken, and a potato salad.  We also ate some bottled peaches.  The dessert was Red's amazing chocolate cake.  I finally convinced him to give me the recipe.  I can't believe that I managed to make it myself....with some help from Lucy.  She's an amazing cook.  She has tried to help me to understand how to gauge the heat caused by wood stoves.  Honestly, I wish that someone would figure out how to make an oven cook at the temperature you want!  It's hard when you're adding wood, and stoking the fire to keep it just right.

Anyway, Will and Lucy were just as amazed at Fern Falls as I am.  After we ate our delicious lunch, the three of us trooped up to the circle room.  Lucy was fascinated by the art work.  Will not quite as much the art work as the sliding door to get into the space.

 I still wonder, "Who were these people?  I have never heard of any Indian tribes that lived in this area.  I know that when Astoria was first settled, there were several tribes of Indians that lived in this area, at the mouth of the Columbia river.  They were very wealthy because so many tribes would travel the Columbia to come here and trade.

It's awful to me how poorly many of the native tribes have been treated.  It seems like the fur trappers marry the women, and then who did the native men marry?

I feel asleep in the back of the wagon traveling home.  Lucy had to work hard to wake me up and get me to bed.  It was truly a wonderful day!

Ardis Journal

Lucy and Will are so crazy in love with each other.  It's hard to live with them for two main reasons. 
1.  I miss Blake and Red like crazy.  OK, I miss Blake in a different way than Red.
2.  It's really hard to witness Will and Lucy's affection while I'm stuck in limbo.  I don't know if Tom is alive or dead, and I'm in love with another man than my husband.  OK, there may actually be more like three reasons.

This place is so very beautiful.  The excess of rain that we have had this last year has created a green that seems to explode in intensity from the inside to the out.  There are many different shades of green, and together they seem woven in a most beautiful tapestry.

I once saw a tapestry when I was in Astoria.  I don't remember any more who it was that showed it to me.  I do remember that it was amazing to me, a weaving of colors, patterns, and even textures that created art work.  There were young girls cavorting about a field.  They were all dressed in an old fashioned way.  I think they said that the tapestry was from the late 1700's.  It was definitely not from America.  The girls wore high curled wigs that were the whitest white I've ever seen.  It seemed an odd fashion for young girls to have old lady WHITE hair? 

I have spun fabric before.  My mother felt that every young lady should know how to spin her own fabric.  She especially wanted me to have the skill to use after I was married.  She would say with a gleam of excitement in her eye (she LOVED to spin) "Ardis Kay...spinning is a wonderful skill for a woman to have.  There may be times of poverty in your life.  I, of course, hope not.  Nonetheless, part of the reason that your father and I have prospered economically is that I could spin our fabric, and sew our own clothes.  I could do the same for others in the community as well.  I feel that its a very important skillset."

Granted, spinning and sewing is a bit different from the weaving of a tapestry but they have many features in common.  You spin wool to turn it into thread.  You then use the thread to sew with, or your weave it in to fabric.  Most of the fabric that you handcraft you do not weave artwork in.  That is far beyond my skills.

Yet both weaving fabric, and weaving tapestry involves threads, a loom, needles and a great deal of training.  I can't imagine that anyone could train themselves to spin, or to weave...and definitely not to design and create patterns, let alone sew garments from all of that process.

It is a marvel to me that many women no longer even do these processes.  They either go to a seamstress, or purchase ready made clothing.  I enjoy the designing and sewing part of that process.  I do not enjoy the shearing of sheep, the carding and cleaning of the wool, and then the spinning and weaving.  I love figuring out how to create pattern pieces to create a dress just the way that I want it.

A tapestry is created by interwoven threads that craft art, pictures of life.  I often wonder if God has his angels busily spinning and weaving the tapestries of each of our lives.  My goodness, that would be a very large tapestry!  Imagine depicting just one day of life, now we add different colors representing another life woven through mine, and then the images, and all of the adventure and challenge that I've faced....that would be a most interesting picture!

Well now I'm going to weave myself into a tapestry of slumber!

Ardis

Red is helping me to understand the vagaries of Blake's wood stove.  I really don't care for cooking.  It annoys me that three times a day food must be prepared and eaten, then cleaned up after.  It feels as though this takes the majority of the day.

Getting a wood stove to stay at a consistent temperature is not pleasant, but it is marginally easier than cooking over an open fire as we did in our travels from Tennessee.  It was so beastly hot in the plains as we crossed, but we still had to burn a fire to cook with.

As a young girl I enjoyed eating.  I didn't have to cook to create the food.  I DID have to help my ma clean up after the meal.  I didn't mind that too much.  Ma and I would talk and laugh, and sing songs.  Sometimes she would sit in a chair and keep me company while I did the dishes. 

I have been making a fruit crisp lately that Red has taught me how to make.  You can make it with any type of fruit, but if you use berries you may need to add a Tablespoon of cornstarch to thicken it. 

FRUIT CRISP

1 cup flour
1 cup oatmeal
1 cup sugar (I prefer to use brown sugar)
1 cup sweet cream butter

Blend all of these things together, creaming the butter into the other ingredients.  If you're using fresh apples peel them, core them, and slice them.  Place them on the bottom of your pan.  Add vanilla, or lavender water, or rosehip water on top, and then sprinkle cinnamon over the fruit.  Next add the other ingredients over the top. 

Bake at 400 degrees (the hottest you can make your woodburning stove) for forty five minutes, or until the crust is golden.

Serve with sweet cream, or ice cream.

This is a dish that I actually enjoy making.  I think I enjoy making it because I enjoy eating it so very much! 

Ardis

Honestly, if this rain doesn't quit soon we'll need to build an ark like Noah in the Bible.  I used to think that rain drumming on the roof was calming, peaceful.  Now I do my best to shut out the image of the original location of Calkington being washed away, and people dying in the shanties on the other side of town. 

Last night I felt a though the drumming of the rain was drumming directly on my head.  If it rains this much in Oregon?  How does anyone farm, don't the crops just wash away?  How is there enough sun light to make anything grow?

I'm exhausted.  When I finally fall asleep I'm wakened by nightmares where I'm trying to outrun a flood that is gaining on me every second.  I have had this nightmare every night for the last week.

My mother was very good at interpreting dreams.  When she would explain what they meant it really helped me to understand how to use my dreams to make my life more productive.

I think that she would tell me that this nightmare means that I constantly feel that I'm on the edge of disaster.  I rush through my day filling it past capacity with activity.  I know that I'm trying to keep from thinking deeply.  This means that I'm always on the edge wondering when the next tragedy will happen.  In three years time I've lost my parents, my in-laws, my in-law siblings, my baby, and I'm pretty certain that Tom is dead as well.  It is a lot of loss.  Sometimes my heart feels too heavy with sorrow to beat properly. 

Oh dear, my tears have begun to fall.  I can't cry and write at the same time.  The ink will smear all over the page, and I don't want to waste paper or ink.  I must find a way to release some of this pent up anguish. 

Christmas

Christmas at the Drifting Anchor Ranch was great and terrible.  It was great to share the holiday with Blake.  It started very well on Christmas Eve.  We had such a wonderful community celebration.  It was magical to me watching the little ones get presents from old Saint Nick aka Blake. 

Then everything was ruined.  The owner of one of the saloons heard that I love to sing.  He invited me to sing at his saloon.  He gave me a gift that he said "Wasn't a bribe."  I don't know the man well enough to even remember his name and he gives me a gift?

The most mortifying moment was finding out that he believed that Blake and I are living together, as God intended man and wife to live together.  Yes, we share the same two room house, but we are not and never have been more than friends. 

I am a married woman.  My allegiance is still to Tom.  It's hard to stay guarded with my feelings towards Blake.  He is such a wonderful man.  He is brilliant, talented, loving, and beloved by this town.  He is one of the hardest workers that I've ever seen, and I've seen quite a few hard workers.

The saloon man and Blake got into a fight.  They were quite evenly matched and they gave as good as they got.  Blake was in a lot of pain Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and for a week afterwards.  He didn't let it stop him.  He worked the day after Christmas.  In the evenings Red would rub lineament all over Blake's chest and back.  Blake said that it eased his pain.

In spite of the fight, and the inappropriate proposition from the saloon keeper, Christmas was quite lovely.  Blake gave me a number of things but my favorite gift was the lovely cherry red sleigh.  He is also a very thoughtful man.  OH MY GOODNESS!  I must quit thinking about Blake, Blake, Blake.

Tom.  Not a whisper, not a single word from him.  I try not to worry about him.  He is a very strong man.  He's been close to death more than once and managed to continue to live.  Each day I do my best to focus on the tasks at hand, those in the town that might need my help, usually Dr. Stone, anything but Tom.  If he truly loved me and wished to keep the promise he made with my parents it seems like he would not let anything stop him from contacting me!  Sometimes I'm very angry at him.  Other times I'm scared....so scared....so alone.  I would never say that Tom and I shared a deep passionate type of love, but in my way I did love him, DO love him.

My eyes will not stay open any longer.  Another day is done.